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POEMS, 
WILLIAM  COWPER,  ESa. 

TOOETUER  WITU    1118 

POSTHUMOUS  POETRY,  . 

A  SKETCH  OF  HIS  LIFE 
BY  JOHN  JOHNSON,  LL,  D. 

THREE  VOLUMES  IN   ONE. 

NEW  ElimON. 

BOSTON 
PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON,  &  CO  , 

110   WASHINCiTON   STKKKT. 
1853. 


\"e^5. 


5'7«'5f 


CONTENTS 

or 
TIIE  FIRST  VOLUME. 


Table  Talk, Jl 

Progress  of  Errour,  •  •  •  -32 

Truth,  •  *  -  -  -49 

Expostulationy        «  •  •  •  •    G5 

Hope,  ^. 

Charity,  •  •  •  -  -  166 ' 

Conversation,  *  •  .  •  •  J34 

-4lMirement,  •  -  -  -  -  149 

The  Yearly  Distress,  of  Tithing  Time  at  Stock  m  '^^ 

Essex,  -  -  .  .  .  ITt 

Sonnet  to  Henry  QtoWper,  Esq.  •  •174 

Lines  addressed  to  Dr.  Darwin,  •  •  173 

.•-On  Mrs.  Montagu's  Feather- Hangings,  J136 

--Verses,' supposed  to  be  written  by  Alexander 
Selkirk  during  his  abode  in  the  Island  of 
Juan  Fernandez,  ....  178 

On  the  promotion  of  Edward  Thnrloir,  Esq.  to 

the  Chancellorship  of  England,  •  -180 

Ode  to  Peace,  -  -  •  -  181 

Httmah  Frailty,  •  -  •  -  182 

The  Modem  Patriot,  •  -  -  -  183 

On  observing  some  names  of  little  Note  recorded 

in  the  Biographia  Britannica,  *  -  -  184 

Report  of  an  adjudged  Case,  not  to  be  found  in 

any  of  the  Books,  ...  ibid. 

On  the  Burning  of  Lopd  Mansfield^  Library,  186 

I    On  the  Same,    •  -  *-  -  •  187 

J  J    The  "Love  of  the  World  i»eproved,  -  -  188      T 

- 1  \  ^"  tHe  death  of  Lady  Throekmorton*8  Bulfinch,      Iftl^fffiT  .,1  r-  — 

I    ^The  Rose, 196^     ' 

The  D!»ve8,  -  -  -  -  -  199 

K  FaljleV  '        .    -  -  •  -  194     ' 


4                                CONTE.NTS. 

' 

A.  Coriiparison, 

195 

Another,  addressed  to  a  young  Tindy, 

196 

Tlie  Poet's  New  Years  Gift, 

.bid. 

Ode  to  ApoUo, 

197 

t       Pairing  Time  anticipated,  a  Fabje,  . 

198 

V 

^     J^p^lie  Dog  and  the  Water  Lily, 

\  The  Poet,  the  Oyster,  and  the  Sensitivo  Plant, 

^ 

The  Shrubbery,       - 

• 

204 

The  Winter  Nosegay, 

- 

205 

{ 

Mutual  Forbearance  necessary  to  the  hapjunofls 

^w,        ofthe  Married  State,    « 
'^.^'he  Negro's  Complaint,     - 
-iPity  for  poor  Africans, 

- 

206 

m 

\ 

-il~ 

I     The  Morning  Dream, 

- 

212 

vl 

-^^■If^he  Nightingale -and  Glow-worm, 

On  a  Goldfinch  starved  Id  death  in  his 

Cago, 

215 

The  Pine  Apple  and  the  Bee,        # 

216 

Horace,  Book  II.  Ode  X.    - 

217 

A  reflection  on  the  foregoing' Ode, 

218 

The  Lily  and  the  Rose,      - 

219 

.   Idem,  Latino  Redditum,     - 

220 

**The  Poplar  Field,    - 

221 

Idem,  Latine  Redditum,     • 

222 

Votum,           -        - 

223 

Translations  from  Vincent  Bourns, 

Cicindela,    -        - 

228 

The  Glow-worm, 

234 

•     Cornicula,    -        -           -           - 

225 

The  Jackdaw,                   -            «v 

226 

Ad  Grillum.    Anacreonticum,    - 

J>27             ' 

The  Cricket, 

229 

Simile  agit  in  simile,        -       ,    - 

230 

The  Parrot,          -            -           - 

231 

1     Translation  of  Prior's  Chloe  and  Euphelia, 

232 

A  VThe  History  of  John  GUpin, 

- 

233-^ 

^^  Epistle  to  an  afflicted  Protestant  Lady 

\n  France 

,  24^ *"*'*'^'^ 

To  the  Rev.  W.  C.  Unwin, 

244 

. .:  .■■...■.,.i^\ 

•     .     •.    \   r    .:   ■:      -  ^  i    /   /; 


PREFACE 


THE  FIRST  VOLUME. 


When  an  Author,  hy  appearing  in  print,  request* 
an  audience  <^  the  publick,  and  is  upon  the  point  of 
speaking  for  himself,  whoever  presumes  to  step  before 
him  with  a  preface,  and  to  say,  '^  Nay,  but  hear  me 
first,*'  should  liave  Something  wortlijr  of  attention  to 
offer,  or  he  will  be  justly  deemed  officious  and  imper  ' 
tinent.  The  judicious  reader  has,  probably  upon  other . 
occasions,  been  beforehand  with  me  in  this  reflection : 
and  I  am  not  very  willing  it  should  now  be  applied  to 
me,  however  I  may  seem  to  expose  myself  k>  the  dan 
ger  of  it.  JBut  the  thought  of  Jiaring  my  own  name 
perpetuated  in  connexion  with  the  name  in  the  title 
page,  is  so  pleasing  and  flattering  to  the  feelings  of  my 
heart,  that  I  am  content  to  risk  somotliing  for  the 
gratification. 

Tliis  Preface  is  not  designed  to  commend  the  Poems 
to  which  it  is  prefixed.  My  testimony  would  be  in- 
sufficient for  those  who  are  not  qualified  to  judge  pro- 
perly for  tliemselves,  and  unnecessary  to  those  who 
are.  Besides,  the  reasons  which  render  it  improper 
and  unseemly  for  a  inan  to  colcbrate  his  own  perform- 
ances, or  those  of  his  nearest  relatives,  will  have  some 
1  * 


L 


==1 


6  PREFACE 

mfluonce  in  su]ipre88iiig  much  ot*  what  he  might  other. 

wiae  wkh  to  say  in  favour  of  a  friend,  when  that  friend 

is  indeed  an  alter  idem,  and  excites  almost  the  some 

emotions  of  sensibility  and  affection  as  he  fee     for 

himself. 

It  is  very  probable  thatHliese  Poems  may  come  into 
the  hands  of  some  persons,  in  whom  the  sight  of  the 
autlior's  name  will  awaken  a  recollection  of  incidents 
and  scenes,  wliich,  through  length  of  time,  they  had  al- 
most forgotter.-  They  will  be  reminded  of  one,  who 
was  once  the  companioT>  of  their  tlhosen  hours,  and 
who  set  out  with  them  in  early  life  in  the  paths  which 
lead  to  literary  honours,  to  influence  and  affluence, 
with  equal  prospects  of  success.  But  he  was  suddenly 
and  powAfully  withdrawn  from  those  pursuits,  and  he 
left  tliem  without  regret ;  yet  not  till  he  had  sufficient 
opportunity  of  counting  the  cost  and  of  knowing  the 
value  of  what  he  gave  up.  If  happiness  could  have 
been  found  in  classical  attainments,  in  an  elegant  taste, 
in  the  exertions  of  wit,  &ncy,  and  genius,  and  in  the 
esteem  and  converse  of  such  persons  as  in  these  re- 
spects were  mo  t  congenial  with  himself,  he  would  have 
been  happy.  But  he  was  not— He  wondered  (as  thou- 
sands in  a  similar  situation  still  do)  that  he  should  con- 
tinue dissatisfied,  with  all  the  means  apparently 
conducive  to  satisfacCfon  within  his  reach.  But  in  du« 
time  the  cause  of  his  disappointment  was  discovered 
to  htin ;  he  had  lived  without  God  in  the  world  In  a 
memorable  hour  the  wisdom  which  is  from  above  visit- 
ed his  heart.  Then  he  felt  himself  a  wanderer,  and 
then  he  found  a  guide.  Upon  this  change  of  vhws,  a 
change  of  plan  and  conduct  followed  of  course.  When 
he  saw  the  bu^y  and  tlie  gay  world  in  its  true  light,  he 


PREFACE.  7 

left  it  with  as  little  reluctance  as  a  priaoner,  mlma  cmBeJ 
lo  libertjr>  learea  kia  donireon.  Not  that  he  became  a 
Gjmck  or  an  Aaeetiek— -A  beart  filied  wUh  leve  to  Cod 
will  assuredlj  breathe'  beneTolence  n»  men.  But  the 
turn  of  his  temper  inclining  him  to  rural  life,  he  to- 
dulled  it,  and  the  Providence  of  God  evidently  prepar- 
ing his  way  and  marking  ont  hie  retreat,  he  retired 
into  the  country.  By  these  steps  the  food  hand  of 
Grod,  unknown  to  mo,  was  providing  for  me  one  of  the 
prineipal  blessings  of  my  liib ;  a  friend  and  a  counsellor^ 
in  whose  company  for  almost  seven  years,  thov^h 
we  were  seldom  Sbven  successive  waking  hours  septr- 
ratod,  I  always  found  new  pleasure.  A  frienld  who  waa 
not  only  a  comfort  to  myself,  but  a  blessing  to  the  al^ 
fectionate  poor  people,  among  whom  I  then  Ifved. 

Sonie  time  after  inclination  had  thus  removed  him 
f^om  the  hurry  and  bustle  of  life,  he  was  still  more  se- 
cluded by  a  long  indisposition,  and  my  pleasure  was 
succeeded  by  a  proportioikable  degree  of  anxiety  and 
eoncem.  But  a  hope  that  the  God  whom  he  served 
vvould  support  him  under  his  affliction,  ^uid  at  length 
vottchsale  ium  a  hap|)y  deliverance,  never  ianooi.  m% 
The  desiraU^  crisis,  I  trusty  is  now  neariy  apiH>oachfng. 
The  dawn^  the  prasage  of  returmng  daj^  is  dready  a]r« 
nved.  He  is  again  enabled  to  resume  his  pen,  and 
some  of  the  first  fruits  of  his  r^overy  are  here  pre* 
sented  to  the  publick.  In  his  ipincipal  subjects,  the 
'same  acumen,,  which  distinguished  him  in  the  early 
period  of  life,  is  happily  employed  in  illustrating  and 
enforcing  the  truths  of  which  he  received  such  deep  and 
unalterable  impressions  in  his  maturer  ^ears.  Hid  sa- 
tire, if  it  may  be  called  so,  is  benevolent,  (like  the  ope« 
rations  of  the  skilful  and  humane  surgeon,  who  wounds 


S  PREFACE. 

<mij  U  btalt)  4iet«ted  by  »  imi  xepud  &r  Uie  honofu 
ofGody^ad  m«UgB8At  ^rief  cxeUed  by  tbe  profligacy 
of  tbe  age,  9ad  t^  tender  compaauon  ior  the  loult  ol 

ilii  favourite  topicks  are  least  insisted  ob  id  the 
piece  entitled  Table  Talk ;  which,  therefore,  with  re- 
gard to  the  prevailing  taste,  and  that  those  who  are  go- 
verned by  it  may  not  be  discooraged  at  the  very  thresh- 
old &om  proceeding  fUrther,  is  placed  first.  In  most 
of  the  large  Poems  which  follow,  his  leading  design  is 
more  expUeitly  avowed  and  pttfsued.  He  aims  to  com- 
municate  his  own  perceptions  of  the  truth,  beauty,  and 
influence  of  the  religion  of  the  Bible — ^A  religion  which 
however  discredited  by  the  misconduct  of  many  who 
have  not  renounced  the  Christian  name,  proves  itself 
when  rightly  understood,  and  cordially  embraced,  to 
be  the  grand  desideratum,  which  alone  can  relieve  the 
mind  of  man  from  pain&l  and  unavoidable  anxieties, 
mqure  it  wi^h  stal^  peace  and  solid  hope,  and  furnish 
those  motives  and  prospects,  which,  in  the  present 
state  of  things,  are  absolutely  neoessaiy  to  produce  a 
conduct  worthy  of  a  rational  cieature,  distinguished  by 
a  vastnese  of  capacity  which  no  assemblage  of  earthly 
good  can  satisfy,  and  by  a  principle  and  pre-intiination 
of  immortality. 

At  a  time  when  hypothesis  and  conjecture  in  philo* 
sophy  are  so  justly  exploded,  and  little  is  considered  as 
deserving  the  name  of  knowledge  which  will  not 
stand  the  test  of  experiment,  the  very  use  of  the  term 
experiment^,  in  religious  concernments,  is  by  too 
nany  unhappily  rejected  with  disgust.  But  we  well 
know,  that  they  who  affect  to  despise  the  inward  feel- 
ings which'  religious  persona  speak  of,  and  to  treat 


PREFACE  9 

Uiem/bi  enthusiasm  and  folly,  hare  inward  feelings  of 
Iheir  own,  which,  though  they  would,  they  cannot  sup- 
/»ress.  We  have  been  too  long  in  the  secret  oursohes, 
to  Account  the  proud,  the  ambitious,  or  the  voluptuous, 
happy.  We  must  lose  the  remembrance  of  what  we 
once  were,  before  we  <^an  believe  that  a  man  is  satis- 
fied with  himself,  merely  because  he  endeavours  to 
appear  so.  A  smile  upon  the  fiice  is  oflen  but  a  mask  ^ 
worn  occasionally  and  in  company,  to  prevent,  if  possi 
'Me,  a  suspicion  of  what  at  the  same  time  is  passing  in 
the  heart.  We  know  that  there  are  people  who  seldom 
smile  when  they  are  alone  ;  who,  therefore,  are  glad  to 
hide  themselves  in  a  throng  from  the  violence  of  their 
^  own  reflexions ;  and  who,  while  by  their  looks  and 
language  they  wish  to  persuade  us  they  are  happy, 
would  be  glad  to  change  their  conditions  with  a  dog. 
But  in  defiance  of  all  their  efforts,  they  continue  to 
think,  forebode,  and  tremble.  This  we  know,  for  it 
has  been  our  own  state,  and  therefore  we  know  how 
to  commiserate  it  in  others.  From  this  state  the  Bible 
relieved  us.  When  we  were  led  to  read  it  with  atten- 
tion, we  found  ourselves  described.  We  learned  the 
causes  of  our  inquietude — We  were  directed  to  a  me- 
thod of  relief— we  tried,  and  we  were  not  disappointed. 

DKUS   NOBIS    HMC    OTIA   FECIT. 

We  are  now  certain,  that  the  gospel  of  Christ  is  the 
power  of  God  untb  salvation  to  every  one  that  belioveth 
It  has  reconciled  us  to  God,  and  to  ourselves  j  to  our. 
duty,  and  our  situation.  It  is  the  balm  and  cordial  of 
the  present  life,  and  a  sovereign  antidote  against  the 
t  fears  of  death. 

Sed  hactcnus  hoec.     Some  smaller  pieces  upon  lest 


10  1*REKACK. 

important  mbjecte  close  the  ?olunie.  ]^k>t  one  of  them 
I  believe  was  written  with  a  view  to  publicatien,  btU  | 
was  unwilling  they  should  be  omitted. 

JOHN  NEWTON, 

ChABLES  S<tUARE,  HOXTON, 

Febniaiy  18, 1782. 


Si  te  forth  mttt  gravis  urtt  sareina  charUt^ 
Mjictto Hor.  lib.  i.  Zph\.  13. 


^.  You  told  me,  I  remember,  glory,  baitt 
On  selfish  principles,  is  shame  and  gntlt ; 
The  deeds  that  men  admire  as.half  dtyinc, ' 
Stark  naught,  because  corrupt  in  their  desi^. 
Strange  doctrine  this !  that  without  scruple  1 
The  laurel  that  the  very  lighUiIng  spares ; 
Brings  down  the  warrior's  trophy  to  the  dost, 
And  eats  into  hiif  bbody  sword  like  mst. 

B.    I  grant,  that  men  continuing  what  thoy  aie, 
Fierce,  avaricious,  proud,  there  must  be  war ;  10 

And  never  meant  tite  rule  should  be  applied 
To  him  that  fights  with  justice  on  has  side. 

Let  laurels,  drench*d  in  pure  PamsMkin  dews. 
Reward  his  mem'ry,  dear  to  ev*ry  mnse. 
Who,  with  a  eourag«  of  unshakmi  root,  15 

In  honour's  field  advancing  his  firm  fi>ot, 
Flints  it  upon  the  fine  that  Justice  draws, 
And  will  prevail,  or  perish  !n  her  cause. 
Tis  to  the  virtues  of  such  men,  man  owe* 
Hie  portion  in  the  good  thai  Heaven  bestows.  20 

Aad  when  recording  History  displays 
Pttats  of  renown,  though  wrought  in  ancient  dpyt, 
Tells  of  a  ftw  stout  hearts,  that  fimght  and  died 
Where  duty  plao*d  them — at  thefar  country's  side*; 
The  man,  that  is  Wot  mov'd  with  what  he  reads,       91 
That  takes  not  fire  at  their  heroicfc  deeds. 
On  worthy  of  the  blessings  of  the  brave. 
Is  base  m  kind,  and  bom  to  be  a  sKv: 


32  JABLE  TALK. 

'But  let  eternal  infamy  pursue 
The  vrretch  to  naught  but  h;B  ambition  truO|  30 

Who,  for  the  sake  of  filling  with  one  blast 
The  post  horns  of  all  Europe,  lays  her  waste 
Think  yourself  station'd  on  a  towVmg  rock 
To  see  a  people  scattered  like  a  flock, 
Some  royal  mastiff  panting  at  their  heels,  35^ 

With  all  the  savage  thirst  a  tiger  feels : 
Then  vi  :w  him  sclf-proclaim*d  in  a  gazette 
Chief  monster  that  has  plagu'd  the  nations  yet 
The  globe  and  sceptre  in  such  hand#  misplaced, 
Those  ensigns  of  dominion,  how  disgraced !  4Q 

The  glass  that  bids  man  mark  the  fleeting  hour, 
And  Death's  own  sithe  w^d  better  speak  his  pow'r , 
Then  grace  the  bony  phantcmi  in  their  stead 
With  the  king's  shonlderknot  and  gay  cockade ; 
Clothe  the  twin  brethren  in  each  other's  dress,  45 

The  same  their  occupation  and  succesa 

jS.    'Tis  your  belief  the  world  was  made  foreman ; 
Kings  do  but  reason  on  the  self-same  plan : 
Maintaining  yours,  you  cannot  theirs  condemn, 
Who  think,  or  seem  to  think,  man  made  for  them.    50 

B.    Seldom,  alas  [  the  power  of  logick  reigns,  • 
With  much  sufficiency  in  royal  brains ; 
Such  reas'ning  falls  like  an  inverted  cone, 
Wanting  its  proper  base  to  stand  upon. 
Man  made  for  kings  I  tlH>se  optieks  are  bnt  dim^        56 
That  tell  you  sorHsay,  rather,  the^or  him. 
That  were  indeed  a  king-ennobling  thought, 
Could  they,  or  would  they,  reason  as  they  ought.       / 
The  diadem  with  mighty  projects  lin'd,  « 

%o  catch  renown  by  ruining  mankind,  60  ^ 

Is  worth,  with  all  its  gold  and  glftt'ring  storey 
Just  what  the  toy  will  sell  for,  and  no  more. 
.  Oh !  bright  occasions  of  dispensing  good, 
Ho^  seldom  used,  how  little  understood ! 
To  pour  in  Virtue's  lap  her  just  reward ;  68 

Keep  vice  restrain'd  behind  a  double  guard ; 


TABLK  TALK..  * 

To  qaell  the  ftction  that  afironts  the  throne, 
By  silent  magnanimity  alone ; 
To  nurse  with  tender  care  the  thriving  arts ; 
Watch  ev*ry  beam  Philosophy  imparts ;  7Q 

To  give  Reiigion  her  unbridled  scope, 
Nor  judge  by  statute  a  believer's  hope ; 
With  close  fid^ity  and  love  unfbign'd, 
To  keep  the  matrimonial  bond  unstained ; 
Covetous  only  of  a  virtuous  praise ;  76 

His  life  a  le:)son  to  the  land  he  a  ways ; 
To  touch  the  sword  with  conscientioas  awe. 
Nor  draw  it  but  when  ditty  bids  him  draw ; 
To  sheath  it  in  the  peace-restoring  dose 
With  joy  beyond  what  victory  bestows ;  80 

Blest  country  where  these  kingly  glories  shine ! 
Blest  England;  if  this  happiness  be  thine ! 

^.     Guard  what  you  say ;  the  patriotiek  tribe 
Will  sneer  and  charge  you  with  a  br%e. — B.  A  bribe  ? 
The  worth  of  his  three  kingdoms  I  defy,  85 

To  lure  me  to  the  baseness  of  a  lie  ; 
And,  of  all  lies,  (be  that  one  poet^s  boast,) 
The  lie  that  flatters  I  abhor  the  most. 
Those  arts  be  theirs,  who  hate  his  gentle  reign, 
But  he  that  loves  him  has  no  need  to  fain.  90 

jt.    Your  smooth  eulogium  to  one  crown  addresa'd. 
Seems  to  imply  a  censure  on  the  rest. 

B.  Quevcdo,  as  he  teils  his  sober  talc, 
Ask'd,  when  in  Hell,  to  see  the  roynl  jail ; 
Approved  their  method  in  all  other  things  ;  96 

But  where,  good  sir,  do  you  confine  your  kings? 
There,  said  h*s  guide — the  group  is  ftill  in  view.  * 
Indeed  ? — ^replied  the  Don — there  are  but  few. 
His  black  interpreter  the  charge  disdalnM — 
Few,  fellow  ? — ^there  are  all  that  ever  reign'd.   ,       XOO 
Wit,  undistinguishing,  is  apt  to  strike 
The  guilty  and  not  guilty,  both  alike. 
I  grant  the  sarcasm  is  too  severe. 
And  wc  can  readily  refute  it  here ; 

V«ii,.  I.  2 


M  .  TABLE  TALK. 

Whne  Alfred's  name,  the  ftUrn  of  hit  tge,  105 

And  the  Sixth  Edward's  grace  th'  hutocick  page. 

jf.  Kings  then  at  last  hare  but  the  lot  irf"  idl : 
Jfy  their  own  conduct  they  must  stand  or  60 

jB.Tme.    While  they  live,  the  eonrtiy  hnaert  pays 
His  qoit-rent  ode,  his  peppercorn  o£  praise ;  IM 

And  m-uiy  a  donee,  whose  fingers  kch  la  write, 
Adds,  as  he  can,  his  tributary  mite : 
A  subject's  faoHs  a  8id>jeet  may  proclaim, 
A  monarch's  errors  are  ibrludden  game ! 
Thus  free  from  eoisnre,  overaw'd  by  lear,  115 

And  prais'd  for  yirtues  that  they  scorn  to  wear, 
The  fleeting  fimns  of  majesty  engage 
Respect,  while  staUdng  o'er  liie's  narrow  stage ; 
Then  leave  their  crimes  for  hii^yry  to  seen. 
And  wmk  with  busy  scorn.  Was  this  the  man  ?  120 

I  pity  kings,  whom  Worship  waiti*  upon, 
Obsequioiis  from  the  cradle  to  the  throne ; 
Before  whose  infrmt  eyes  the  flatt'rer  bows, 
And  binds  a  wreath  about  their  baby  browfi ; 
Whom  £ducati<m  stifi«A8  into  state,  .   i26 

And  Death  awakens  from  that  dream  too  late. 
Oh  1  if  Serrility  with  sui^e  knees. 
Whose  tride  it  is  to  smile,  to  crouch,  to  please } 
If  smooth  Dissimulation,  skiU'd  to  grace 
A  devil's  purpose  with  «n  angel's  iaoe  *,  130 

If  smiling  peeresses,  and  simp'ring  peers, 
Encompassing  his  throne  a  few  short  years  ; 
If  the  gilt  carriage  and  the  pamper *d  steed. 
That  wants  no  driving,  and  disdains  the  lead ; 
If  gutttls,  mechanically  form'd  in  ranks,  135 

Playing,  at  beat  of  drum,  thfeir  martial  pranks. 
Shouldering  and  standing  as  if  stuck  to  stone. 
While  condescending  majesty  looks  on  } 
If  monarchy  consist  ia  such  base  things, 
Sighing,  -I  say  again,  f  pity  kings !  I4i 

To  be  suspected,  thwarted,  and 'withstood, 
Ken  when  he  labours  for  his  country's  good, 


TABLE  TALK. .  i5 

To  fee  a  band  cvUVd  patriot  fox  no  caiwe, 
But  that  they  catch  at  popular  applause, 
Careless  of  all  the  anxiety  he  feels,  145 

Hook  ^sappointment  on  the  publick  wheels  ; 
With  all  their  fiippant  fluency  of  tongue, 
Most  confident,  when  palpably,  most  wrong  j 
If  this  be  kingly,  then  farewell  for  me 
All  kingship ;  and  may  I  be  poor  and  free  I  15C 

To  be  the  Table  Talk  of  clubs  up  stairs, 
To  which  th*  unwash'd  artificer  repairs, 
T*  indulge  his  genius  after  long  fatigue. 
By  diving  into  cabinet  intrigue ; 
(For  Y^hat  kings  deemed  a  toil,  as  well  they  may,     155 
To  him  is  relaxation  and  mere  play,) 
To  win  no  piilse,  when  well-wrought  plans  prerail, 
But  to  be  rudely  censur'd  when  tliey  iail ; 
To  doubt  the  love  his  fav'rites  may  jHretend, 
And  in  reality  to  find  no  friend ;  16C 

If  he  indulge  a  cultivated  taste,   . 
His  gairries  with  the  works  of  art  well  grae*d, 
To  hear  it  call'd  extravagance  and  waste ; 
If  these  attendants,  and  if  such  as  these, 
Must  follow  royalty,  then  welcome  ease :  .165 

H«>wever  humble  and  confin'd  the  sphere,     , 
Happy  the  state  that  has  not  those  to  fear. 
A.  Thus  men,  whose  thoughts  cpntemplativt  have 
dwelt 
On  situations  that  they  never  folt. 
Start  up  sagacious,  covered  with  the  dust  170 

Of  dreaming  study  and  pedantick  rust. 
And  prate  and  preach  about  what  others  prove, 
As  if  the  world  and  they  were  hand  and  glove. 
Leave  kingly  backs  to  cope  with  kingly  cares ; 
They  have  their  weight  to  carry,  subjects  theirs ;    175 
Poets,  of  all  men,  ever  least  regret 
Increasing  taxes,  and  the  natioif  s  debt. 
Could  you  contrive  the  payment,  and  rehearse 
The  mighty  plan,  oracular  in  verse, 


i<5  TABLE  TALK. 

No  bard,  howe'er  majcstick,  old  or  new,  '80 

Slioiild  claim  my  fix'd  attentibn  more  than  you. 

B.  Not  Brindley  nor  Bridgewater  would  essay 
To  turn  the  course  of  Helicon  that  way  ; 
Nor  would  the  Nine  consent  tlie  sacred  tide 
Should  purl  amidst  the  traffick  of  Chcapside,  185 

Or  tinkle  in  Change  Alley,  to  amuse 
The  leathern  ears  of  stockjobbers  and  Jews. 

^.  Vouchsafe,  at  least,  to  pitch  the  key  of  rhyme 
To  themes  more  pertinent,  if  less  sublime.  "  * 

When  ministers  and  ministerial  arts;  11)0 

Patriots,  who  love  good  plaCfes  at  their  hearts ; 
When  admirals  extoll'd  for  standing  still, 
Or  doing  nothing  with  a  deal  of  skill ;     ^ 
Gen'rals  who  will  not  conquer  when  they  may, 
Firm  friends  to  peace,  to  pleasure,  and  good  pay ;    195 
When  Frepdom,  wounded  almost  to  despair, 
Though  Dipcontent  alone  can  find  out  where  ; 
When  themes  like  these  employ  the  poet's  tongue, 
I  hear  as  mute  as  if  a  syren  sung. 
Or  tell  me,  if  you  can,  what  pow'r  maintaixis  200 

A  Briton's  scorn  of  arbitrary  chains  ? 
That  were  a  theme  might  animate  the  dead, 
And  movethe  lips  of  poets  cast  in  lead. 

,/?.  The  cause,  tho' worth  the  search,  may  yet  cludu 
Conjecture  and  remark,  however  shrewd.  2(/5 

They  take  perhaps  a  well-directed  aim, 
Who  seek  it  in  his  climate  and  his  frame. 
Lib'ral  in  all  things  else,  yet  Nature  here 
With  stern  severity  deals  out  the  year. 
Winter  invades  the  spring,  and  oflen  pours  210 

A  chilling  flood  on  summer's  drooping  flow'rs  , 
Unwelcome  vapours  quench  autumnal  beams, 
Ijngenial  blasts  attending  curl  the  streams ; 
The  peasants  nrge  thei^  harvest,  pty  the  fork 
With  double  toil,  and  shiver  at  their  work ;  215 

Thus  with  a  rigour,  for  his  good  design'd. 
She  rears  her  .%v*rile  man  of  all  mankind. 


L 


Hii  form  robust  ana  of  elastick  tone, 

Pi4>portion!d  well,  halt  muscle  and  half  boiw* 

Stftplies  with  warm  activity  and  force  890 

A  mind  well  lodg*d,  and  manrailine  of  ootme, 

Hi0noe  Liberty,  9wcet  Liberty  inapuresy 

And  keeps  aKve  his  fierce  bat  Boble  fiiefi 

Patient  of  coiistitiitio&al  control, 

He  bears  it  with  meek  nuudmewof  iool ;  8S9 

But,  if  Authority  grow  wantimy  wo 

To  him  that  treads  upon  Ms  £ree-bom  toe  v 

One  step  beyond  the  boundVy  of  the  laws 

Fires  him  at  once  in  Freedom's  glorious  eaaae^ 

Thus  proud  prerogative,  not  much  reter*dy  99(^ 

Is  seldom  felt,  though  sometimes  seen  and  heaid  | 

And  in  lus  cage,  like  parrot  fine  and  gay, 

Is  kept  to  strut,  look  big,  and  talk  away. 

Born  in  a  climate  softer  fiu*  than  ours, 
Not  formed  like  us,  with  such  Hercokam  poipir^y      835 
The  Frenchman,  easy,  debonair,  and  brisk, 
Giro  him  his  lass,  his  fiddle,  and  his  fidudc, 
Is  always  happy,  reign  whoever  may. 
And  laughs  the  sense  of  misery  far  away. 
He  drinks  his  simple  beverage  with  a  gust }  M^ 

And,  feasting  on  an  onioh  and  a  ernst^^  « 

We  never  feel  the  alacrity  and  joy 
With  wliich  he  shouts  and  car^  ^««  /•  Roil 
Fill'd  with  as  much  true  merriment  atld  glee> 
As  if  lie  heard  his  kmg  soy---^  IBlave,  be  ftee  */         MS 

Thus  happiness  depends,  a»  Naturd  sbow% 
Less  on  exteriour  things  than  mo0t  siij^OM* 
Vigilant  over  all  that  ho  has  madd, 
Rind  Providence  attends  with  gracious  i^  ; 
Bids  equity  throughout  his  work&  prevaily  8Si 

And  weiglis  the  nations  in  sn  even  scale ; 
He  can  encourage  slav'ry  to  a  smile, 
And  nil  with  discontent  a  British  isle. 

J]  Freeman  and  slave,  then,  if  tlie  case  be  sueh, 
bland  on  a  level ;  and  you  prove  too  innch  J  255 


W  TABI^  TALK. 

If  all  men  indiscriminately  share 

His  fostering  power,  and  tutelary  care,  .  - 

As  wel!  be  yok'd  by  Despotism's  liand, 

As  dwell  at  large  in  Britain's  chartered  land. 

B.  No.  Freedom  has  a  thousand  charms  to  show,  2G€ 
That  slaves,  howe'er  contented,  never  know. 
The  mind  attains  beneath  her  happy  reigrn 
The  growth,  that  Nature  meant  she  should  attain^ 
The  varied  fields  of  science,  ever  rilw, 
Op'ning,  and  wider  op'ning,  on  her  view,  26i 

She  ventures  onward  with  a  prosp'rous  force, 
While  no  base  fear  impedes  her  in  her  course. 
Religion,  richest  favour  of  the  skies. 
Stands  most  Tcveal'd  before  the  freeman'^  eyes ; 
No  shades  of  superstition  blot  the  day,  27Q 

Liberty  chases  all  that  gloom  away ; 
The  soul  emancipated,  unoppress'd, 
Free  to  prove  all  things,  and  hold  fast  the  beat. 
Learns  much  ;  and  to  a  thousand  listening  minda 
Communicates  with  joy  the  good  she  finds ;  275 

Courage  in  arms,  and  ever  prompt  to  show 
His  manly  forehead  to  the  fiercest  foe  ; 
Glorious  in  war,  but  for  the  sake  of  peace, 
His  spirits  rising  as  his  toils  inciease. 
Guards  well  what  arts  and  industry  have  won,         29Q 
And  Freedom  claitus  him  fi>r  her  first-bom  son. 
Slaves  fight  for  what  were  better  cast  away— 
The  chain  that  binds  them,  and  a  t3nrant's  sway  ; 
But  they  that  fight  fi>r  freedom,  undertake 
The  noblest  cause  mankind  can  have  at  stake  265 

Religion,  virtue,  truth,  whate'er  we  call 
A  blessmg — ^freedom  is  the  pledge  of  all. 
O  Liberty  !  the  prisoners  pleasing  dream. 
The  poet's  muse,  his  passion,  and  his  theme  ; 
Genius  is  thin^,  and  thuu  art  Fancy's  nurse  ;  290 

Lost  without  thee  th'  ennobling  pow'rs  of  verse ; 
Hcroick  song  from  thy  free  touch  acquires 
Its  clearest  tone,  the  rapture  it  inspires. 


TABLE7ALK.  19 

Place  me  *when  Winter  breathee  Jus  ke^Mil  ai^ 
And  I  will  sing,  if  L*iberty  be  there ;  296 

And  I  will  sing  at  Libert's  dear  feet, 
In  Afric's  torrid  cUmey  or  India's  nerceat  heat. 

A.  Sing  where  yea  please;  in  such  a.  cauae  I  grant 
An  English  poet's  privilege  to  rant ; 

But  is  not  Freedom — at  least,  k  not  ours,  300 

Too  apt  to  plaj  the  wairton  with  her  pow'rs, 
Grow  freakish,  and,  o'erlea^Mng  every  mound. 
Spread  anarchy  and  terrour  all  around  ? 

B.  Agreed.  But  would  you  sell  or  slay  your  horse 
For  boundii^  and  eurvetting  in  his  course  ?  306 
Or  if^  when  ridden  with  a  easeless  rein, 

He  break  awa/,  and  seek  the  distant  plain  ? 
No.  His  high  mettle,-uuder  good  contr<^ 
Gives  him  Oljrmpick  speed,  and  shoots  him  to  the  goal. 

Let  Discipline  employ  her  whelesoine  arts  ;  31C 

Let  magistrates  alert  perform  their  parts. 
Not  skulk  or  put  on  a  prudential  mask. 
As  if  their  duty  were  a.  desperate  task ; 
Let  active  Laws  apply  the  needful  curb} 
To  guard  the  Peaee,.that  Riot  would  disturb ;  S10 

And  Liberty,  preserved  from  wild  excess, 
Shall  raise  no  feuds  for  annies  to  sD^iprass. 
When  Tumult  lately  burst  his  prison  door, 
And  set  jfrfebeian  thousa^s  in  »  roar ; 
When  he  usurp'd  Authority's  just  place,  390 

And  dar'd  to  look  his.mai^r  in  the  lace  : 
When  the  rude  n^le's  watchword  was^-destroj, 
And  blazitig  London  seem'd  a  second  Troy ; 
Liberty  blush'd,  and  hung  her  droc^ping  head, 
Beheld  their  progress  with  the  deepest  dread ;  325 

Blush'd  ^t  eflEects  like  these  she  should  produr.e. 
Worse  than  the  deeds  of  galley-slaves  broke  loose 
She  loses  in  sueh  storms  her  very  name. 
And  fle««e  Lieenttousness  f^ould  bear  the  blame. 

Incomparable  gem  !  thy  worth  untold  ;  330 

Cheap,  tho*  blood-bought,  and  thrown  away  wheneold  i 


20  tkBLE  TALIt. 

l^jr  w>^^  mHrii  tiiMy  ami  no  iUdo  fHMid 

B^irmy  thee,  wUle  pnfyBmng  to  defend  ! 

Prize  it,  ye  miniflefs ;  ye  monafebi,  9ptat9 ) 

Te  patriots,  ^uard  it  iritk  a  miset^s  care.  3$S 

Jf.  Paltiota,  Idas !  tiie  few  that  haTe  heen  fbmtAf 
Where  most  they  flowidi,  upon  ESngliah  grmau&f 
The  country's  need  hai^e  seantily  snppKed, 
And  the  last  left  1^  seene,  whMi  Chatham  ^ed. 

B.  Not  0O«-4he  yirtne  stitt  adorns  onr  agv^        •   340 
Though  the  chief  aeior  died  upon  tiie  stage. 
In  hira  Demosthenes  was  heard  again ; 
Liberty  taught  hmi  her  Athenian  strtdn : 
She  clothed  him  ^Hth  authority  and  awe, 
Spoke  from  his  lips,  and  in  his  looks  gate  law.        345 
I^  speech,  his  Ibrm,  his  action,  full  of  grace. 
And  all  his  eountry  beaming  in  his  hce, 
He  stood,  as  some  inimitable  hand 
Would  strive  to  make  a  Paul  or  TvSfy  stand. 
No  sycoi^iant  or  dat«,  that  day'd  opposis  230 

Her  sacred  cause,  but  tmmMed  when  he  rose  ; 
And  ev'ry  venal  sd<^er  fat  the  y^^ 
t*elt  himself  emshVI  at  the  first  wont  he  t^x^e. 

Such  men  are  rais'd  to  station  and  command 
When  Providenee  means  mercy  to  a  land.  8S5 

He  speaks,  and  they  appear :  to  htm  they  owe  ■ 
Skill  to  direct,  and  strength  to  stsrike  the  h^mt; 
To  manage  with  addi^ss,  to  seiie  with  pim'r 
The  crisis  of  a  dark  docisive  boor. 
So  Gideon  eam'd  a  victory  not  his  own ;  8W 

Subserviency  his  praise,  and  that  alone. 

Poor  England !  tiRW  art  a  devoted  de^r, 
Beset  with  every  ill  but  that  of  fear. 
Thco  nations  hunt ;  all  mark  thee  £br  a  prey ; 
They  swarm  around  thee,  and  thoiii  stand*st  at  bi^  365 
Undaunted  still,  thmigh  wearied  and  perplexed. 
Once  Qiafiiam  sav'd  thee ;  but  who  saves  thee  v*(Zi  ( 
Alas  !  the  tide  of  pleasure  sweeps  along 
All,  that  should  ber  the  boairt  of  Britu^  song. 


TABLE  TALK.  *1 

Tis  not  the  wreaUi,  that  onee  sdem*d  thy  IwMr,     ^ 
The  prize  of  happier  times,  jmiX  awm  thee  wm 
Our  ancestry,  a  gattuit,  Christian  raea, 
Patterns  of  ev'ry  virtue,  ev'ry  gvaoe, 
Confcs'd  a  God  ;  they  kneel'd  More  they  fooflit, 
And  praised  him  in  the  yietories  he  wreofchi.  31i 

Now  from  the  ^st  of  ancient  days  bring  fiirth 
1  heir  sofaner  zeal,  integrity,  and  worth , 
Courage  ungrac'd  by  these,  affronts  the  eklee. 
Is  but  the  fire  without  the  saer^oe. 
Tne  stream,  thatfecdsthe  well-spring  of  the  heaity  380 
Not  more  invigorates  li&'e  noblest  part, 
Than  Virtue  quickens  with  a  warmth  divine 
Tho  pow'rs  that  Sin  has  brought-to  a  decline. 

^.  Th*  inestimaUe  Estimate,  of  Brown 
Rose  like  a  paper  kite,  and  chBrm*d  the  towa ;        385 
But  measures,  plann'd  and  exeooted  well, 
Shifted  the  wmd  that  raised  it,  and  it  feU. 
He  trod  tiie  ^lyy  self-same  ground  yea  treed, 
And  Victory  refuted  all  he  said. 

JB,  And  yet  his  judgment  was  not  6ram*d  amiss ;  900 
Its  errour,  if  it  err'd,  was  merely  this — - 
He  thought  the  dying  hour  already  como, 
And  a  complete  recovery  struck  him  dumb. 

But  that  effeminacy,  folly,  lust, 
Enervate  and  enfeeble,  and  needs  must ;  396 

And  tiiat  a  nation  shamefully  debes'd 
Will  be  dospis'd  and  trampled  on  at  last, 
Uidess  sweet  Penitence  herpew*i8  lonew  ; 
Is  truth,  if  history  itself  be  true. 
There  is  a  time  and  Justice  marks  the  date,  400 

For  long-forbearing  clemency  4o  wait ; 
That  hour  elapsed  th*  incurable  rev<^t 
Is  punished,  and  down  comes  the  thunderbolt. 
If  mercy  then  put  by  the  threatening  Mow, 
Must  slie  perform  the  same  kind  o^ce  now  f  ,        40S 
May  she  ?  and  if  offcmded  Heav'n  be  sttU 
Accessible,  and  pray'r  prevail,  she  will 


=», 


98  TABLJB  TALE. 

Tb  not,  h^wwetfuaokiiitem  and  noiM, 

The  teoofert  of  tuiBuituary  joyt» 

Nor  is  it  yet  de^pondeneo  wad  dmaaj  416 

Will  win  her  visits,  or  engage  her  stoy ; 

Pray  T  only,  and  the  plbitealial  tear, 

Can  call  hi*r  smiling  dews,  and  fix  her  her# 

But  when  a  coontiy,  (one  that  I  oooild  nuemj^ . 
In  prostitution  sinks  the  sense  oC  shamfr  ;  415 

When  infiunons  Veaaittyy  fptawn  bold. 
Writes  on  his  bosom,  Te  he  Ut  or  sold  / 
VHien  Peijoiy,  that  HeftT*n-dtfymg  rio*, 
Sells  oaths  by  tale,  and  at  the  lowest  pricey 
Stamps  God's  own  name  i^Mn  a  he  just  naidei        490 
To  turn  a  penny  in  the  way  of  trade ; 
When  AT*rice  stanres,  (and  never  hides  his  faee,) 
Two  or  three  millions  of  tho  hnmon  raee, 
And  not  a  tongue  inqmrea,  how,  where,  or  whenr 
Though  conicience  will  havo  twmges  now  and  then; 
When  profanation  of  the  saored  cause,  ^'  4U5 

In  all  its  parts,  times,  ministry,  and  law% 
Bespeaks  a  kad,  once  Christian,  fall'n  and  lost, 
In  idl,  but  wars  against  that  title  most ; 
What  follows  next  let  cities  of  great  name,  430 

And  regions  \tmg  since  deeolate,  proclaim. 
Nineveh,  Babylon,  and  ancient  Bome, 
Speak  to.  the  present  times,  and  times  to  eornai ; 
They  cry  aloud  in  ev'ry  eareleai  ear, 
Stop  while  you  may ;  suspend  your  mad  career;     495 
O  learn  from  our  example  and  our  fate, 
Iieam  wisdom  and  repentaneo  ore  too  late. 

Not  only  Vice  disposes  and  prepares 
The  miud,  that  slumbers  sweetly  in  her  snares, 
To  stoop  to  Tyranny'fei  usurp'd  command,  440 

And  bend  her  polish'd  neck  beneath  his  hand, 
(A  dire  effect,  by  one  of  Nature's  laws, 
Urchangeabiy  connected  with  its  cause ;) 
But  Providence  himself  will  intervene, 
To  throw  his  dark  displeasure  o'er  the  scene  445 


All  are  his  instrtfitteHte ;  etoh  farm  of  irtr, 

What  bums  at  home,  or  threatens  £rom  a&r : 

Nature  in.  arms,  her  elements  i^  strife, 

The  storms  that  overset  Uie  jojs  of  life, 

Are  but  Ids  rods  to  scourge  a  guJy  land,  400 

And  waste  it  at  the  bidding  of  his  hand. 

He  gives  the  wofd,  and  Mu^y  soon  roars 

In  all  her  gates,  and  riiakes  her  distant  shores ; 

Tlie  standards  of  all  nations  are  tinfhrl'd ; 

She  has  one  foe,  and  that  one  foe  the  worid.  455 

And,  if  he  doom  that  people  with  a  firown, 

And  mark  them  with  a  seal  of  wrath  pressM  /town. 

Obduracy  takes  place  ^etJUfraa  and  tough, 

The  reprobated  race  grows  judgment  proof; 

Earth  shakes  beneath  them,  and  Hekv^n  roars  above;  4G0 

But  nothing  scares-them  ftom  the  course  they  love. 

To  the  lascivious  pipe  and  wanton  sang, 

That  charm  down  fear,  they  froliek  it  along. 

With  mad  rapidity  and  unconcern, 

Down  to  the  gulf,  from  wfai^  is  no  return.  466 

They  trust  in  navies,  and  their  navies  fail~- 

Crod*s  curse  can  cast  away  ten  thousand  sail! 

They  trust  in  armies,  and  their  courage  dies  ; 

In  wisdom,  wealth,  in  fortune,  and  in  li^s , 

But  all  they  trust  in,  withers,  as  it  must,  470 

When  Hid  commands,  in  whom  they  place  no  inot 

Vengeance  at  last  pours  down  upon  their  coast 

A  long  despised,  but  now  victorious,  host ;   ■ 

Tyranny  sends  the  chain,  that  must  abridge 

The  noble  sweep  of  idl  their  privilege  ;  4Tfi 

Gives  liberty  the  last,  the  mortal  shock  : 

Slips  *he  slaveys  collar  on,  and  snaps  the  lock. 

A.  Such  lofty  strains  embellish  what  you  teach, 
Mean  yf>«  to  prophesy,  or  but  to  preach  ? 

B.  I  know  the  mind  that  feols  indeed  the  fire        4911 
The  muse  imparts,  and  can  command  th*e  lyre, 

Acts  with  a  force  and  kindles  with  a  zeal, 
Whato'ei  the  tiiemc,  that  others  never  feeL 


24  TABLF  TALK. 

I£  hum  in  woes  her  soft  attention  elainiy 

A  tender  sympatky  pervades  the  frame  ;  435 

She  pours  a  sensibility  divine  . 

Alon^  the  nerves  of  every  feeling  lino. 

But  if  a  aeed  not  tamely  to  be  borne 

Fire  indignation  and  a  sense  of  scorn, 

The  strings  are  swept  with  such  a  pow*r  so  loud,     490 

The  storm  of  musick  shakes  th'  astonished  crowd. 

So,  when  remote  futurity  is  brought 

Before  the  keen  inquiry  of  her  thought, 

A  terrible  sagacity  informs 

The  poetVheart ;  he  looks  to  distant  storms  >  4^ 

He  hears  the  thunder  ere  the  tempest  low'rs  ■, 

And,  arm*d  with  strength  surpassing  human  powers, 

Seizes  events  as  yet  unknown  to  man, 

And  darts  his  soul  into  the  dawning  plan. 

Hence  in  a  Roman  mouth,  the  grac#  .ol  name  500 

Of  prophet  and  of  poet  was  the  same  ', 

Hence,  British  poets,  too,  the  priesthood  shared. 

And  every  hallow'd  druid  was  a  bard. 

But  no  prophetick  fires  to  me  belong ; 

I  play  with  syllables,  and  sport  in  song.  505 

^.  At  Westminster,  where  little  poets  strive 
To  set  a  distich  upon  six  and  five, 
Where  Discipline  helps  th'  op*ning  buds  of  sensey 
And  makes  his  pupils  proud  with  silver  pence, 
I  was  a  poet  too :  but  modern  taste  510 

Is  so  refhi'd,  and  delicate,  and  chaste. 
That  verse,  whatever  fire  the  fancy  warms. 
Without  a  creamy  smoothness  has  no  charms. 
Thus,  all  success  depending  on  an  ear. 
And  thinking  I  might  purchase  it  too  dear,  515 

If  sentiment  were  sacrificed  to  sound, 
And  truth  cut  short  to  make  a  period  rounds 
I  judg'd  a  man  of  sense  could  scarce  do  worse, 
Than  caper  in  the  morris-dance  of  verse. 

B,  Thus  reputation  is  a  spur  to  wit,  520 

And  some  vriis  flag  through  fear  of  losing  it 


TABLE  TALK  » 

Giv6  me  liia  fine  that  ploughs  its  stately  course 
Like  a  proud  swan,  conquering  the  stream  bj  force ; 
That,  like  some  cottage  beauty,  strikes  the  heart, 
Quite  unindebted  to  the  tricks  of  art.  SSS 

When  Labour  and  when  Dulness  club  in  hand, 
Like  the  two  figures  at  St.  Dunstan's,  stand. 
Beating  alternately  in  measur*d  time, 
The  clock-work  tintinabulura  of  rhyme, 
Exact  and  regular  the  sounds  will  be ;  530 

But  such  mere  quarter-strokes  are  not  for  me. 

From  him  who  rears  a  poem  lank  and  long. 
To  him  Vho  strains  his  all  into  a  song  ; 
Perhaps  some  bonny  Caledonian  air, 
All  birks  and  braes,  though  he  was  never  there  ;      535 
Or,  having  whelp'd  a  prologue  with  great  pains. 
Feels  himself  spent,  and  fumbles  for  his  braioB ; 
A  prologue  interdash'd  with  many  a  stroke — 
An  art  contriv'd  to  advertise  a  joke. 
So  that  the  jest  is  clearly  to  be  seen,  540 

Not  In  the  words — ^but  in  the  gap  between : 
Manner  is  all  in  all,  whato'er  is  writ 
To  substitute  for  genius,  sense,  and  wit. 

To  dally  much  with  subjects  mean  and  low 
Proves  that  the  mind  is  weak,  or  makes  it  so.  545 

Neglected  talents  rust  into  decay, 
And  ov'ry  effort  ends  in  puslipin  play. 
The  man  that  means  success  should  soar  above 
A  soldier's  feather,  or  a  lady's  glove  ; 
Else,  summoning  the  muse  to  such  a  theme,  550 

The  fruit  of  all  her  labour  is  whipp'd  cream. 
As  if  an  eagle  flew  aloft,  and  then — 
Stoop'd  from  its  highest  pitch  to  pounce  a  wren 
As  if  the  poet,  purposing  to  wed, 
Should  carve  himself  a  wife  in  gingerbread.  555 

Ages  claps'd  ere  Homer's  lamp  appear'd. 
And  ages  ere  the  Mantiian  swan  was  heard, 
To  carry  Nature's  lengths  unknown  before, 
To  give  a  Milton  birth,  ask'd  ages  more. 

Vol.  I.  3 


$t  TABLE  TALK. 

Thus  Geniufl  rose  and  set  at  order'd  times,  6G0 

And  shot  a  day-spring  into  distant  ciimesy 

Ennobling  ev'ry  region  that  he  chose  y 

lis  sunk  in  Greece,  in  Italy  he  rose  ; 

And,  tedbtts  y^irs  of  Uothick  darkness  passM, 

Emerg'd  all  splendour  in  oinr  isle  at  last.  56& 

Thus  lorely  halcyons  dive  into  the  main, 

Then  show  far  off  their  shining  pluines  again^ 

A,  Is  genius  only  found  in  epick  lays  ? 
Prove  this,  and  forfeit  all  pretence  to  praise. 
Make  their  heroiok  pow'rs  your  own  at  once,  570 

Or  candidly  confess  yourself  a  dunce.  • 

B»  l^iue  were  the  chief:  each  interval  of  night 
Was  grac'd  with  many  an  undulating  light. 
In  less  illustrious  bards  his  beauty  shone 
A  meteor  or  a  star ;  in  these  the  sun.  575 

The  nightingale  may  claim  the  topmost  bough, 
While  the  poor  grasshopper  must  chirp  below. 
Iiike  him  unnotie'd  I,  acd  such  as  T, 
Spread  little  wings,  and  rather  sidp  than  fly  ', 
Perch*d  on  the  meagre  produce  of  the  land,  580 

An  ell  or  two  of  prospect  we  command ;, 
Bot  never  peep  beyond  the  thorny  Itound, 
Or  oaken  fer.ce  that  hems  the  paddock  round. 

In  Zden,  ere  yet  innocence  of  heart 
Had  faded,  poetry  was  not  an  art :  586 

Language  above  all  teaching,  or,  if  taught, 
Only  by  gratitude  and  glowing  thought,. 
Elegant  as  simplicity,  and  warm 
As  ecstasy,  unmanacled  by  form. 
Not  prompted,  as  in  our  degenerate  days,  5$X) 

By  low  ambition  and  the  thirst  of  praise,- 
Was  natural  as  is  the  flowing  stream. 
And  yet  magnificent— A  God  the  theme  ! 
That  theme  on  Earth  exhausted,  though  above 
'Tis  found  as  evi^rlasting  as  his  love,  695. 

Man  lavished  all  his  thoughts  on  human  things — 
The  feais  of  heroes,  and  the  wrath  of  ^ij^  ; 


fABLE  TALK.  W 

But  still,  while  Tirtne  khidlMl  Ms  tfeligM, 
Tlie  aong  waft  moml,  sad  so  fiff  Wa»  tigiiC. 
Twas  thus  iM  Liljtttry  s«ABi»*d  11^  mhid  6d0 

To  joys  less  HtHMsmxt)  m  1<^  M^*d ; 
Then  OMuu  ^fatne'd  a  baeekatnl ;  he  crew**d 
The  brimmhi^  ^reMet,  sekVI  the  thytm,  bovni 
His  orows  wi^  hy,  rllsk'd  mte  ^10  ^td 
Ot  wild  imagination^  aiid  thero  ttmVdf  606 

The  Tictim  of  his  own  iaacilrie«s  fiiM) 
And,  dizzy  with  deli^,  ptft&xk'd  the  siAMd  wtot* 
Anacreon,  Horace^  ^y'd  kk  GtMee  tand  Rottte  *'\. 
This  bedlam  part,  and  el|ie»  neater  home.  "^ 

When  Cromwell  fou^t  ftr  pew^r,  and  wttBe  h»  f^pk'i 
The  proud  protectcnr  ef  the  power  l»  g^%  ttt 

Religion  harsh,  intolerant,  aostere, 
Parent  of  manners  like  herself  severe, 
Drew  a  rough  copy  of  the  Christian  fheey 
Without  the  smile,  the  sweetness,  or  the  fraee }     6IS 
The  dark  and  sullen  humour  of  the  time 
Judged  ev'ry  efihrt  of  the  muse  a  crime ; 
Verse,  in  the  finest  mould  of  &iicy  cast, 
Was  lumber  in  an  age  so  void  of  taste  : 
But  when  the  seeond  Charles  assnm'd  the  suniyv      ^^ 
And  arts  reriT'd  beneatii  a  softer  day, 
Then  like  a  bow  long  {otc*d  mto  a  eurve, 
The  mind,  releas'd  from  too  ceostraiai'd  a  Aevfey 
Flew  to  its  first  position  with  tt  eprmg, 
That  made  the  yaulted  roofs  of  Pleasing  ring.         CBS 
His  court,  the  dissolute-and  hateful  sehool 
Of  Wantonness,  where  vice  was  taii^ht  by  nd% 
Swarm'd  with  a  seribolihg  herd,  as  deep  inhtid 
With  brutal  lust  as  erer  Circe  made. 
Prom  these  a  long  succession,  in  a  rage  €90 

Of  rank  obscemty  debftuch'd  their  age  : 
Nor  ceas*d  till  ever  anxious  to  redress 
1  he  abuses  of  her  saered  charge,  the  pr«#s, 
TIaO  muse  instructed  a  well-nurtur'd  train 
Of  iblor  votaries  to  deanse  the  stain,  ^9S, 


ip  TABt£  TALK. 

And  claim  th»  palm  for  purity  of  sonify 
That  Lewdness  had  utorp'd  and  worn  so  loof  • 
Then  decent  Pleasantry,  and  sterling  Sense, 
That  neither  gave  nor  wonld  endwe  offence, 
Whipp'd  out  of  sight,  with  satire  just  and  kaea,       040 
The  puppy  pack,  that  had  defil'd  the  scene. 
In  front  of  these  came  Addison.    In  him 
Humour  in  hc^ay  and  sightly  trim. 
Sublimity  and  attick  taste  combined, 
To  polish,  fisnish,  and  delight  the  mind.  645 

Then  Pope,  as  harmony  itself  exact, 
In  Terse  well  disciplin'd,  complete,  compact, 
Gave  Tirtue  and  morality  a  grace. 
That  quite  eclipsing  Pleasure's  painted  face, 
Levied  a  tax  of  wonder  and  applause,  €60 

£*en  on  the  fools  that  trampled  on  their  laws. 
But  he,  (his  musical  finesse  was  such, 
So  nice  his  ear,  so  delicate  his  touch,) 
Made  poetry  a  mere  mechanick  art ; 
And  ev*ry  warbler  has  his  tune  by  heart.  655 

Nature  imparting  her  satirick  gift. 
Her  serious  mirth,  to  Arbuthnot  and  Swift, 
WHh  dnA  sobriety  Uiey  rais'd  a  smile 
At  Folly's  cost,  themselves  unmov'd  the  while. 
That  consteHation  set,  the  world  in  vain  660 

Must  hope  to  look  upon  their  Hke  again. 

A.  Are  we  then  left — B,  Not  wholly  in  the  dark ; 
Wit  now  and  then,  struck  smartly,  idio#s  a  spark, 
Sufficient  to  redeem  the  modem  race 
From  total  night  and  absolute  disgrace.  666 

While  servile  trick  and  imitative  knack 
Confine  the  million  in  the  beaten  track. 
Perhaps  some  courser,  who  disdains  the  road, 
Snuffs  up  the  wind,  and  flings  himself  abroad. 

Contemporaries  all  surpassed,  see  one  ;  670 

Short  his  career,  indeed,  but  ably  run  ; 
Churchill,  himBelf  unconscious  of  his  pow'rs, 
la  penury  consuni'd  his  id'o  hours  ; 


TABLE  TAUL  • 

And  like  a  9cattor*d  Med  at  naiAdM  floWB, 
Was  left  to  apritig  by  tigour  of  bn  own.  098 

Lifted  at  length,  by  dignity  of  thoogiit 
And  dint  of  genhu  to  an  t^nent  lot, 
He  laid  hie  head  in  Lnzory's  soft  lap, 
And  took,  too  often,  there  hn  eaa^  tta|^. 
If  brighter  bcama  than  all  he  threw  not  §Mkf  §B0 

Twas  negligence  in  him,  not  want  of  worth. 
Surly,  and  slovenly,  and  bold,  and  ooarie, 
Too  proud  for  art,  and  trusting  in  mere  Ibree^ 
Spendthrift  alike  of  money  and  of  wit. 
Always  at  speed,  and  never  drawing  bit,  €&$ 

He  struck  the  lyre  in  such  a  careless  mood, 
And  so  disdained  the  rules  he  understood. 
The  laurel  seemed  to  wiut  on  his  command. 
Ho  snatch'd  it  rudely  from  the  muses'  hand. 
Nature,  exerting  an  unwearied  paw%'  #09 

Forms,  opens,  and  gires  scent  to  ev'ry  flewe#  f 
Spreads  the  fresh  verdnre  (^the  field,  and  leada 
l4ie  dancing  Naiads  through  ^e  de^t^  meadi. 
She  fills  profbse  ten  thousand  little  throats 
With  musick,  modulating  aU  their  notes;  €96 

And  charms  tli«  woodland  scenes,  and  w9ds  VBAxmrnnf 
With  artless  airs  and  concerts  of  her  own ; 
But  seldom,  (as  if  fisarfUi  of  expense,) 
Vouchsafes  to  man  a  poet's  just  preteno^— 
Fervency,  freedom,  fluency  of  thoc^t,  900 

Harmony,  strength,  words  exqufiHtely  sought ; 
Fancy,  that  from  the  bow  that  spans  the  sky, 
Brings  colours  dipped  in  Heav^n^  that  .never  di»  r 
A  soul  exalt^  above  earth,  a  mind 
Skiird  in  the  characters  that  form  mankind  *,  705 

And  as  the  sun  in  rising  beauty  dress'd, 
Looks  to  the  westward  from  the  dappled  east, 
And  marks  whatever  clouds  vmy  interpose, 
Ere  yet  his  race  begins,  its  glorious  close  ; 
And  eye  like  his  to  catch  the  distant  goal ;  'lO 

Or,  ere  the  wheels  of  verse  begin  to  roll, 
3« 


£»M 


90  TAiiL.E  TAUL 

Like  hit  to  ab/td  illvBiiiMtiii^  rays 

On  ey'ry  icene  and  tubject  it  survejn : 

Thus  gno*df  the  man  aaeerts  a  poet>  name, 

And  the  world  cheerfully  admits  the  claim.  715 

Pity  Religion  has  so  seldom  found 
A  skilful  fpiide  into  poetick  ground ! 
The  flow'rs  would  spring  where'er  she  deign'd  to  stray 
And  ev*ry  muse  attend  her  in  her  way. 
Virtue  indeed,  meets  many  a  rhyming  friend,  720 

And  many  a  compliment  politely  penn*d  ', 
But,  unattir*d  in  that  becoming  vest 
IMigion  weaves  for  her»  and  half  undressed, 
Btands  in  the  desert,  shivring  and  forlom, 
A  wintry  figure,  like  a  withered  thorn.  725 

The  shelves  are  full,  all  other  themes  are  q;>ed  ] 
Hackneyed  and  worn  to  the  last  flimsy  thread, 
Satire  has  long  since  done  his  best ;  and  curst 
And  loathsome  ribaldry  has  done  his  worst ; 
Fancy  has  i^rted  all  her  pow'rs  away  730 

In  tales,  in  trifles,  and  in  children's  play ; 
And  'tis  the  sad  complaint,  and  almost  true, 
Whate'er  we  write,  we  bring  forth  nothing  new. 
Twere  new  indeed  to  see  a  bard  all  &r% 
Touch'd  with  a  coal  from  Heav'n,  assume  the  lyre,  Ti\S 
And  tell  the  world,  still  kindling  as  he  sung, 
With  more  than  mortal  musick  on  his  tongue, 
Th|it  He,  wh5  died  below,  and  reigns  above, 
Inspires  the  song,  and  that  his  name  is  Love. 

For,  after  all,  if  merely  to  beguile,  740 

By  flowing  numbers,  and  a  flow'ry  style, 
The  tedium  that  the  lazy  rich  endure. 
Which  now  and  then  sweet  poetry  may  cure , 
Or,  if  to  see  the  name  of  idle  self, 
Stamp'd  on  tbe  well-bound  quarto,  grace  the  shelf,  745 
To  float  a  bubble  on  the  ^rsath  of  Fame, 
Prompt  his  endeavour  and  engage  his  aim, 
Dobas'd  to  servile  purposes  or  pride. 
How  ar  •  the  pow'rs  of  genius  misapplied  ! 


TABLE  TALK.  «• 

The  giA  whose  office  ia  the  Giyer'e  pniie,  ?60 

To  tntse  him  m  his  word,  his  works,  his  wajf  t 
Then  spread  the  rich  discov'iy,  and  invito 
Mankind  to  share  in  the  dirine  delight, 
Distorted  from  its  use  and  just  design, 
To  make  the  pitiful  possessor  shine,  78& 

To  purchase  at  the  ibol-fretpented  fair 
Of  Vaxiitj,  a  wreath  for  self  to  wear, 
Is  profanation  of  the  basest  kind — 
Proof  of  a  trifling  and  a  worthless  mind.  759 

^.  Hail,  Stemh^  then ;  and,  Hopkins^  hail ! — B. 
If  flatt*ry,  lollj,  lost,  employ  the  pen ;  [Amen. 

If  acrimony,  slander,  and  abuse. 
Give  ita  charge  to  blacken  and  traduce ; 
Though  Butler's  wit.  Pope's  numbers,  Prior*s  ease, 
With  all  that  fancy  can  invent  to  please,  7G$ 

Adorn  the  polish'd  periods  as  they  £dl. 
One  madrigal  of  theirs  is  worth  them  alL 

%4.  *Twould  thin  the  ranks  of  the  poetick  tribe, 
To  dash  the  pen  throng  all  that  you  proscribe. 

B.  No  matter — ^we  could  shift  when  they  were  not ; 
And  shoald,  no  dcubt,  if  they  were  ill  Ibrgot.  771 


THK 

PROGRESS  OF  ERROUR. 


Si  quid  loquar  aucUendom^^fiar.  ZiA.  it.  Qd.  S. 

SING,  muse,  (if  such  a  theme,  so  dark,  so  longf 
May  find  a  muse  to  grace  it  with  a  song,) 
By  what  unseen  and  unsuspected  arts, 
l*he  serpent  Errour  twines  round  human  hearts  y. 
Toll  where  she  lurks,  beneath  what  flow'ry  shadei^     5 
That  not  agUmpse  of  genuine  light  pervades, 
The  pois'nous,  black,  insinuating  worm 
Successfully  conceals  her  loailisome  form. 
Take,  if  ye  can,  ye  careless  and  supine, 
Counsel  and  caution  from  a  voice  like  mine  !  10  . 

Truths,  that  the  theorist  could  never  reach, 
And  observation  taught  me,  I  would  teach. 

Not  all,  whose  eloquence  the  fancy  fills, 
Musical  as  the  chime  of  tinkling  rills. 
Weak  to  perform,  though  mighty  to  pretend,  15 

Can  trace  her  mazy  windings  to  their  end ; 
Discern  the  fraud  beneath  tlie  specious  lure, 
Prevent  the  danger,  or  prescribe  the  cure. 
The  clear  harangue,  and  cold  as  it  is  clear, 
Falls  soporifick  on  the  listless  ear  ;  20 

Like  quicksilver,  the  rhet'rick  they  display 
Shines  as  it  runs,  but  grasp'd  at  slips  away. 

Placed  for  his  trial  on  this  bustling  stage. 
From  thoughtless  youth  to  ruminating  age, 
Free  in  his  will  to  choose  or  to  refuse,  25 

Man  may  improve  the  crisis  or  abuse  ; 


^ 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  ERROUR  83 

£l8e  on  the  fatalist's  unrighteous  plan, 
Say  ta  what  bar  amenable  were  man  ? 
With  nought  in  charge  he  cooM  betray  no  trust ; 
Andy  if  he  fell,  would  fall  because  he  must :  90 

If  Love  reward  him,  or  if  Vengeance  strike, 
His  recompense  is  both  unjust  alike. 
Divine  auitko^t|r  witinn  his  breaat 
Brings  ev'ry  thought,  word,  action,  to  the  test : 
Warns  him  or  prompts,  approves  him  or  restrains,    35 
As  Reason,  or  as  Passion  takes  the  reins. 
Heav'n  from  above,  and  Ccmscience  from  within, 
Cries  in  his  startled  ear — ^Abstain  from  sin ! 
The  world  around  solicits  his  desire. 
And  kindles  in  his  soul  a  treacherous  fire ;  40 

While,  all  his  purposes  and  steps  to  guard, 
Peace  follows  Virtue  as  its  sure  reward ; 
And  Pleasure  brings  as  surely  in  her  train 
Remorse,  and  Sorrow,  and  vindictive  Pain< . 

Man,  thus  endu'd  with  an  elective  voice,  45 

Must  be  su]^lied  with  objects  of  his  choice  ; 
Where'er  he  turns,  enjoyment  and  delight. 
Or  present,  or  in  prospect,  meet  his  sight ; 
Those  open  on  the  spot  their  honey'd  store : 
These  call  him  loudly  to  pursuit  of  more.  60 

His  unexhausted  mine  tlie  sordid  vice 
Avarice  ^ows,  and  virtue  is  the  price. 
Here  various  motives  his  ambition  raise — 
Pow'r,  pomp,  and  splendour,  and  the  thirst  of  praise. 
There  Beauty  woos  him  with  expanded  arms  ;  55 

E'en  Bacchanalian  madness  has  its  charms. 

Nor  these  alone  whose  pleasures,  less  refin'd, 
Might  well  alarm  the  most  unguarded  mind, 
Seek  to  supplant  his  inexpericnc'd  youth. 
Or  lead  him  devious  from  the  path  of  truth ;  /  60 

Hourly  allurements  on  his  passions  press, 
9alb  in  themselves,  but  dang'rous  in  th'  excess. 

Hark  I  how  it  floats  upon  the  dewy  air ' 
O,  wliata  djring,  dying  close  was  there ! 


S4  THE  PE0GRE9S  OF  E&ROUR. 

Tia  harmony  from  joa,  leqneaterM  how^t  ^ 

Sweet  harmcmj,  that  MOtiMs  tiM  nudaigiit  hotff  t 

Long  ere  the  charioteer  of  day  had  rua 

His  morning  eoorse,  th'  enohantoieBft  waft  faeg«a 

And  he  shall  gild  yon  mooataiik^  height  i 

Ere  yet  the  pleasing  toil  becomes  a  pain. 

Is  Uiis  the  rugged  paUi,  the  steep  aaeeot, 

"Fhat  Virtue  points  to  ?  Can  a  life  thus  i 

]joad  to  the  Uise  she  promises  the  wiee. 

Detach  the  soul  fhem  earth,  and  speed  her  to  tiM  sklfl^* 

Te  devotees  to  your  ador'd  employ,  99 

Entliusiasts,  dr«uk  with  an  ttnreal  joy, 

Jjove  makes  the  mvsi^  of  the  blest  aboffVy    . 

Heav*n*s  harmony  is  muYersal  lov^e ; 

And  earthly  souads,  tiia*  sweet  and  well  comfattt^d, 

And  lenient  as  soft  opiates  to  the  mind,  80 

Leave  Vice  and  Folly  misubdn'd  behind. 

Gray  dawn  appears  ;  the  sportsman  and  hts  traa 
Speckle  the  bosom  of  the  distant  plain ; 
'Tis  he,  the  Nimrod  of  the  neighb'riag  lairs ; 
Save  that  his  scent  is  less  acute  than  iheirsy  81 

For  persevering  chase,  and  headUmg  leaps, 
True  beagle  as  the  stanchest  hound  he  keeps. 
Charg'd  witli  the  ^ly  of  his  life's  mad  scene, 
He  takes  offence,  and  wonders  what  you  mean 
The  joy  the  danger  and  the  toil  overpays—*  90 

'Tis  exercise,  and  health,  and  length  ofdayA. 
Again  impetuous  to  the  field  he  flies  , 
I^aps  ev'ry  fence,  but  one,  there  falls  and  dies ; 
Like  a  slain  deer,  the  tumbrel  brings  him  homey     . 
Unraiss'd  but  by  his  dogs  and  by  his  groom.  OS 

To  clergy,  while  your  orbit  is  your  place. 
I/tghts  of  the  world,  and  stars  of  human  race ; 
Bui  if  eccontrickye  forsake  your  sphere, 
Prodigies  ominous,  and  view'd  with  fear ; 
The  comet's  baneliil  influence  is  a  dream  ;  100^ 

Tours  real  and  pernicious  in  th'  extreme. 
What  then  ! — are  iqf^tites  and  hists  laid  down 
With  the  same  ease  that  man  puts  on  his  gown  ? 


TOB  fWOBREm  OF  EftEOim.  U 

Win  Av*rico  and  CoDgqp'wenet  five  plMO, 
Charnfd  by  tfa*  Mnnito    Yoqg   lUv^iwoei  ^  T«iff 
Grace  ?  IttI 

No.    Bui  hi«  rnvB  eng^gi—nt  biiids  him  iMil ; 
Or^if  it doe» not,  hamds himiaiha  kst. 
What  atheists  call  him— «  dmkgmsig  knave, 
A  mere  churoh-fiifglert  hjfiocrite^  and  slave. 
Oh,  laugh,  or  moom  with  me  the  rotfel  jest,          iliO 
A  cassock'd  hontsmam,  and  a  fiddHaf  pneat  * 
He:ii:om  Italian  soa^isters  takes  his  eoe : 
Set  Paul  to  rausick,  he  ahall  quote  htm  toeu 
He  takes  the  fieki,  the  mmitor  of  the  peck 
Cries— Wefl  dona,  wiiit!  aadelapafaMQaontbakaflk.  115 
Is  tlus  the  path  of  sanoaty  ?  la  thM 
To  stand  a  wmy^iamA  m  the  read  tebyoa  ? 
Himself  a  wanderer  firom  tibe  mawow  «i^, 
His  sillj  sheep  what  wendet  if  they  stray? 
Go,  oast  your  orders  at  your  fiiahf^'s  feet,               JS^ 
Send  your  diahonoor'd  gewn  to  Momaoyth-eteeel  1 
The  sacred  function  in  yoov  handto  is  mada 
Sad  sacrilege !  no  l^moUon,  bat  a  trade  !      -^ 

Occiduus  ie  a  pastor  of  renown  v 
"hen  he  has  pr&y'd  and  preaeh'd  the  sabhath  dawn, 

nth  wire  and  catgut  he  concludes  thfe  day,  129 

Quavering'  ^jd  semiqoaT'ring  care  away. 
The  full  concerto  swells  upon  your  ear ;   - 
All  elbows  shake.    Look  in,  and  yoa  wooki  ewear 
The  Babykinian  tyrant  with  a  nod,  190 

Had  summoned  tiaem  to  serve  hb  golden  god. 
So  well  that  thought  th*  employment  sa^ma  to  suit, 
Psalt'ry  and  sackbut,  dulcimer,  and  flute. 
O  fie !  'tis  evangelicid  and  puse : 
Observe  eaehfiice,  how  sober  and  dBmw*  135 

Ecstasy  sets  her  stamp  on  «»V6ry  mien ; 
Chins  fall'n  and  not  an  eyeball  to  be  seen. 
Still  I  insist,  though  musick  heretoflufe 
Has  charmed  me  much,  (not  e*n  Occiduu*  more,) 
l^vc,  joy,  and  peace,  make  harmot^  more  meet      110 


Whe 

with 


36  THE  PftOORESS  OF  ERROmt 

For  Sabbath  ev*timg8,  and  perhaps  as  Bwe«t. 

Will  not  the  sickliest  sheep  of  ev'ry  flock 
Resort  to  this  example  as  a  rock ; 
There  stand,  and  justify  the  fottl  abuse 
Of  sabbath  hoots  with  plausible  ezonse  ?  145 

If  apostolick  gravity  be  free 
To  play  the  fool  on  Sundays,  why  notiiw  t 
If  hi  the  tinkling  harpsichord  regards 
As  inoffensive,  what  of!ence  in  cards  ? 
Strike  up  the  fiddles,  let  us  all  be  gay,  IST 

Laymen  have  leave  to  dance,  tf  parsons  pky. 

Ob  Italy  ! — ^Thy  sabbaths  will  be  soon 
Our  sabbaths,  clos'd  with  mumm*ry  and  buflbon. 
Preaching  and  pranks  will  share  the  motley  scene, 
Ours  parcelled  out,  as  thine  have  ever  been,  155 

God's  worship  and  the  mountebank  between. 
What  says  the  prophet  ?  Let  that  day  be  blest 
With  holiness  and  consecrated  rest. 
Pastime  and  bimness  both  it  shouM  ezdude, 
And  bar  the  door  the  moment  they  intrude ;  1€0 

Nobly  distinguish^  above  all  the  six 
By  deeds,  in  which  the  world  must  never  mix. 
Hear  him  again.    He  calls  it  a  delist,  ^ 

A  day  of  luxury  observ'd  aright, 
When  the  glad  soul  is  made  Heav'ns  w^corae  guest, 
Sits  banqueting,  and  Crod  provides  the  feast.  1G6 

But  triflers  are  engag'd  and  cannot  come ; 
Their  answer  to  the  call  is-^^ATot  at  home. 

O  the  dear  pleasures  of  the  velvet  plain. 
The  painted  tal^ets,  dealt  and  dealt  again !  170 

Cards  with  what  rapture,  and  the  polish'd  die. 
The  yawning  chasm  of  indolence  supply  ! 
Then  to  the  dance,  and  make  the  sober  moon 
Witness  of  joys  that  ^un  the  sight  of  mKm- 
Blame,  cynick,  if  you  can,  quadrille  or  ball,  175 

The  snug  close  party,  or  the  splendid  hall. 
Where  night,  down-stooping  from  her  ebon  throm 
Views  oonrtellationa  bri^iter  than  her  own. 


'mE  P&OGB£fi»  OP  CSBOUl.         W 
'Tis  iimocent,  andliaiaueBs,  and  r«fiB!d, 
The  balm  of  care,  Elysium  of  the  mind.  180 

Innocent  I  Oh,  if  veneiaUe  Time 
Slain  at  the  foot  of  pleaaore  be  no  crine, 
Then,  with  his  sihrer  beoxd  and  m«gick  mnd, 
Let  c3omus  rise  archbishop  of  the  land  ; 
I^et  him  your  mbf iekaod  yMir  ^uuta  ptMecibe,        1 06 
Grand  metropolitan  of  all  the  tribe. 

Of  manners  roHgh^  and  coaive  aAhletick  CMty 
The  rank  debaucli  suits  Clodk>*a  GkiJay  tasto. 
IlusiJluS;  ezqaisite]y>£)i'm'd  bymle, 
N  ot  of  the  moral,  but  ibe  daociag  sohool,  IM 

AVonders  at  Ck>dio's  lbUtea»  in  ft  tone 
t '  ■;     As  tragical,  as  others  at  his  own. 
■'l     He  cannot  drii^  five  boUles^bilk  the  i^ore, 
-     Then  kill  a  constable,  and  ^ink  1^^  mof  e  ^ 
'    But  he  can  draw  a  pattern,  n«ake.a  Uut,  199 

_  ■       And  has  the  ladies'  etiquette  %  imiutU 
;    t    €ro,  fool ;  aad^  axasiin  arai  witii  Clodio,  plead 
J    Tour  cause  befinre  a  bar-yi»a  liitle  dvead : 
J    But  know,  the  law,  thsX  bids  the  drunkard  die, 
I    Is  far  too  just  to  pass  the  trifler  by.  200 

J    Both  baby  featux^d^  and  of  infant  siae, 
4*jL;    Viewed  from  a  distance,  oad  with  he)9dlQS8  Q^#a 
»  *;    Folly  apd  JimQcence  are  0o  ajike, 

*    The  diffrenqe,  though  epoential,  fail*  to  f trike  ■, 

Tet  Folly  ever  ha^  a  Tacantstace,  9UI 

A  simp'rmg  coimt'oaace^  and  a  tridixig  ftir : 
But  Innocence,  sedate,  serene,  er^ct, 
,     Delights  us^by  engaging  our  respect. 
Man,  Nature's  guest  by  inyitaUon  sweet, 
Receives  from  her  both  appetite  and  treat;  ,2 it) 

But  if  he  play  the  glutton,  and  exceed. 
His  benefactress  blushes  at  the  deed  ; 
¥or  Nature,  nice,  as  lib'ral  to  (^^^jspeose, 
Made  nothing  but  ft  brute  the  ^ve  ofspnse. 
S  Daniel  ate  puke  by  choipo*  ^tample  raxe  '  21& 

t  Heaven  bless'd  the  youth,  and  made  h^u  ix^  and  fcur. 

I  Vol.  I.  4 


16  TH£  PROGRESS  OF  ERROlUt 

Gtorgonius  sits,  abdomiiious  and  wan. 

Like  a  fat  squab  upon  a  Chinese  fan  : 

He  snu€8  fiu:  off  the  anticipated  joy  ; 

Turtle  and  ven'son  all  his  thoughts  employ ,  2241 

Prepares  lor  meals  as  joekios  take  a  sweat, 

Oh.  nauseous  ! — an  emetick  for  a  whet ! 

Will  ProTidence  overlook  the  wasted  good  ? 

Temperance  were  no  virtue  if  he  could. 

That  pleasures,  therefore,  or  what  such  we  call,  225 
Are  hurtful,  is  a  truth  confess'd  by* all. 
And  some,  that  seem'<d  to  threaten  virtue  less, 
Still  hurtful  in  th'  abuse,  or  by  the  ezcei». 

Is  ^;nan  then  only  for  his  torment  plac'd 
The  centre  of  delights  he  may  not  taste  ?  230 

Like  fabled  Tantalus  condemn'd  to  hear 
The  precious  stream  still  purling  in  his  ear, 
Lip  deep  in  what  he  longs  for,  and  yet  curs'd 
With  prohibition,  and  perpetual  thirst  ? 
No,  wrangler, — destitute  of  shame  and  sense,  236 

The  precept,  that  enjoins  him  abstinence. 
Forbids  him  none  but  the  licentious  joy. 
Whose  fruit,  though  fair,  tempts  only  to  destroy. 
Remorse,  the  fatal  e^g  by  pleasure  lud 
In  every  bosom  where  her  nest  is  made,  240 

Hatch'd  by  the  beams  of  truth,  denies  him  rest, 
And  proves  a  raging  scorpion  in  his  breast. 
No  pleasure  ?  Arc  domestick  comforts  dead  } 
Are  all  the  nameless  sweets  of  friendship  fled  ?        244 
Has  time  worn  out,  or  fashion  put  to  shame,        [fame  ? 
Oood  sense,  good  health,  good  conscience,  and  good 
4.J  these  belong  to  virtue,  and  all  prove, 
That  virtue  has  a  title  to  your  love. 
Have  you  no  touch  of  pity,  that  the  poor 
Stand  starv'd  at  your  inhospitable  door  ?  2M 

Or  if  yourself,  Jtoo  scantily  j^pplied. 
Need  help,  let  honest  industry  provide. 
Earn,  if  you  want ;  if  you  abound,  impart , 
These  both  are  pleasures  to  the  feeling  heart 


TH£  PROGRESS  OF  IIRROUIL  99 

No  pleasure  ?  Has  Bome  siekl  j  eastern  wasle  SK 

Sent  us  a  wind  to  parch  us  at  a  blast  ? 

Can  British  Paradise  no  scenes  afford 

To  please  her  sated  and  indifferent  lord  f 

Are  sweet  philosophy's  enjoyments  nm 

Quite  to  the  lees  ?  And-has  reli^n  none  ?  Ml 

Brutes  capable  would  tell  jon  tie  a  lie, 

And  judge  you  from  the  kennel  and  the  sty. 

Delights  like  these,  ye  sdnsual  and  proftae, 

Te  are  bid,  hegg^dy  besoogrht  to  entertain ; 

Caird  to  these  crystal  strearas,  do  ye  turn  off  265 

Obscene  to  swill  and  swallow  at-a  trough  ? 

Envy  the  beast  then,  on  whom  Heay'n  bestow* 

Tour  pleasures,  with  no  ourses  in  the  dose. 

Pleasure  admitted  in  undue  degree 
Enslaves  the  will,  nor  leaves  the  jud^ent  free*      930 
Tis  not  alone  the  grape's  enticing  juice. 
Unnerves  the  moral  powers,  and  mars  their  use  t 
Ambition,  av'rice,  and  the  lust  of  fame, 
And  woman,  lovely  woman,  does  the  same. 
The  heart  surrender'd  to  the  ruBng  power  89^ 

Of  some  ungovem'd  passion  every  hour, 
Finds  by  degrees  the  truths,  that  once  bore  sway, 
And  all  their  deep  impressions,  wear  away ; 
So  coin  grows  smooth,  in  traiHck  current  past'd. 
Till  CsBSPjr'B  image  is  ef!ac'd  at  last.  960 

The  breach,  tho*  small  at  first,  soon  opeaiai^  widf , 
In  rushes  folly  with  a  fuU-moon  tide, 
Then  welcome  errours  of  whatever  siie, 
To  justify  it  by  a  thousand  lies. 

As  cr  3eping  ivy  clings  to  wood  or  stont,  966 

And  hides  the  ruin  that  it  feeds  upon ; 
So  sophistry  cleaves  close  to  and  protects 
Sin's  rotten  trunk,  concealing  its  defects; 
Mortals,  whose  pleasures  are  their  only  care. 
First  wish  to  be  impos'd  on,  and  then  are.  990 

And,  lest  the  fulsome  artifice  should  fail, 
Themselves  will  hide  its  coarseness  with  a  veiL 


40  THE  PROGRESS  OP  ERROUft. 

Rot  more  industrioas  ard  the  just  and  trtie, 

To  give  to  Virtue  what  is  Virtue's  doe — 

The  praise  of  wisdom,  comeliness,  and  worth,  SOi 

And  call  her  charms  to  pubHck  notice  fortb-^ 

Than  Vice's  mean  and  dishigennons  race, 

To  hide  the  shocking^  futures  of  her  fkce. 

Her  form  with  dress  and  lotion  thej  repur  ;- 

Then  kiss  their  idol,  and  pronounce  her  fidr;  300 

The  sacred  implement  I  now  employ 
Might  prove  a  mischief,  or  at  best  a  toy ; 
A  triHe,  if  it  mofb  but  to  amuse  ; 
But,  if  to  wrong  the  judgment  and  abute, 
Worse  than  a  poniai^d  in  the  basest  hand,  306 

It  stabs  at  once  the  morals  of  a  land. 

Ye  writers  of  what  none  with  safety  reads; 
footing  it  in  the  dance  that  Fancy  leads ; 
fe  novelists,  who  mar  what  ye  wovdd  mei;id, 
Sniveling  and'driv'ling  fblly  without  end  ;  310 

Whose  corresponding  misses  fill  the  ream 
With  sentimental  frippery  and  dream. 
Caught  in  a  delicate  soft  silken  net 
By  some  lewd  earl,  or  rakehell  baronet ; 
Ye  pimps,  who  under  virtue's  fkir  pretence,  315 

Steal  to  the  closet  of  young  innocence, 
And  teach  her,  unexperienced  yet  and  green. 
To  scribble  as  you  scribbled  at  fifteen ; 
Who,  kindling  a  combustion  of  desire, 
With  some  cold  moral  think  to  quench  the  fire  ,      390 
Though  all  your  engineering  proves  in  vwn. 
The  dribbling  stream  ne'er  puts  it  out  again. 
O  that  a  verse  had  pow'r,  and  could  command 
Far,  far  away  these  fiesh-flies  of  the  land ; 
Who  fasten  without  mercy  on  the  fair,  335 

And  suck,  and  leave  a  craving  maggot  there ! 
Howe'er  disguis'd,  th*  inflammatory  tale, 
And  cover 'd  with  a  fine-spun  specious  veil ; 
Such  writers,  and  such  readers,  owe  the  gust 
And  relish  of  their  pleasure  all  to  lust.  830 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  ERROUR.     41 

But  the  muse,  «4gle  pinion'd,  has  in  view 
A  quarry  more  important  still  than  you ; 
Down,  down  the  wind  she  swims,  and  sails  awiji 
Now  stoops  upon  it,  and  now  grasps  the  prey. 

Petronius !  aU  the  muses  weep  for  thee  ;  338 

But  er'ry  tear  shall  scald  thy  memory  ; 
The  ^r<«ces  too,  while  Virtue  at  their  shrine, 
Lsy  bleeding  under  that  soft  hand  of  thine, 
Fell  each  a  mortal  stab  in  her  own  breast, 
AbfiGrr'd  the  sacrifice,  and  curs'd  tlie  priest.  310 

Thou  pohsh'd  and  high  finish'd  foe  to  ^ruth^ 
Graybeard  corrupter  of  our  listening  youth, 
Co  purjgre  and  skim  away  the  filth  of  vice, 
That  so  refin'd  it  might  the  more  entice. 
Then  pour  it  on  the  morals  of  thy  son  *,  315 

To  taint  his  heart,  was  worthy  of  thme  own! 
Plow,  while  the  poison  all  high  life  pcrvadef. 
Write,  if  thou  canst,  one  letter  from  the  sbadety 
One,  and  one  only,  charg'd  with  deep  regret, 
That  thy  worst  part,  thy  principles,  live  yet ;  360 

One  sad  epistle  thence  may  cure  mankuid 
Of  the  plague  spread  by  bundles  left  behind. 
Tie  granted,  and  no  pltuner  tmth  appears, 
Our  most  important  are  our  earliest  years; 
The  Mind,  impressible  and  soft,  with  ease  35^ 

Imbibes  and  copies  what  she  hears  and  Boe»y 
And  through  life's  labyrkith  holds  fiuit  the  clew, 
That  Education  gives  her,  false  or  true, 
Plants  rais'd  with  tenderness  are  seldom  strong ;    . 
Man*8  coltish  disposition  asks  the  thong  ;  3G0 

And,  without  disciplme,  the  fav'rite  child. 
Like  a  neglected  forester,  runs  wild. 
But  we,  as  if  good  qualities  would  grow 
Spontaneous,  take  but  httle  pains  to  sow ; 
We  give  some  Latin,  and  a  smatch  of  Greek ;         365 
Teach  him  to  fence,  and  figure  twice  a  week: 
And  having  done,  we  tliink  the  best  we  can^ 
Praise  his  proficiency,  and  dub  him  rnan. 
4» 


«i         THE  PROGRESS  OF  ERROUR. 

From  school  to  Cam  or  Jsis,  ahd  thenee  hoitie } 
And  thence  with  all  convenient  speed  to  Rome^      370 
With  rev'irend  tutor  clad  in  habit  lay, 
To  tease  for  cash,  and  quarrel  with  all  day ; . 
With  memorandum  book  for  ev'ry  town, 
And  ev'ry  post,  and  whore  the  chaise  broke  dvvm. 
His  stock,  a  few  French  phrases  got  by  heart,  Sll* 

With  much  to  learn,  but  nothing  to  impart : 
The  youth,  obedient  to  his  ttre*8  commands, 
Sets  off  a  wanderer  into  fbreign  lands. 
Surprised  at  all  they  meet,  the  gosUng  pair, 
With  awkward  gait,  stretoh'd  neck,  an^  nlly  stare. 
Discover  huge  cathedrals  built  with  rtone,  381 

And  steeples  towering  high  much  like  our  crnn ; 
But  show  peculiar  light  by  many  a  grin 
At  popish  pnctMen  observ'd  within. 

Ere  long  some  bowing,  smirking,  EHSiart  alM        385 
Remarks  two  loit'rers,  that  hare  lost  their  wi^ } 
And  being  always  prim*d  with  pt^esse 
For  men  of  their  appearance  uid  address. 
With  much  oompassioD  undertakes  the  task. 
To  tell  them  more  than  they  hate  wit  to  ask ;  300 

Points  to  inscripticmB  "vHicaresoe'er  they  tread^ 
Such  as,  when  legiUe,  were  never  read. 
But,  being  canker'd  irow  and  half  worn  oot. 
Craze  antiquarian  bndne  with  endless  doubt ; 
Some  headless  hteo,  €a»wom»  Ctesar  shew#^  395 

Defective  only  in  his  Roman  nose ; 
Exhibits  elevations,  draarings,  plani^ 
Models  of  Herculanean  pots  iumI  pans ; 
And  sells  them  medals,  which,  if  neither  faro 
Nor  ancient,  will  be  so,  preserved  with  care.  400 

Strange  the  recital !  from  whaterer  cause 
His  great  improvemmat  and  new  light  he  draws, 
The  squire,  once  bashful,  is  shame&c'd  no  more^ 
But  teems  with  pow'rs  he  never  folt  before : 
Whether  increased  momentum,  and  the  force  405 

With  which  from  clime  to  clime  he  iq[>ed  his  course. 


..Ji 


TUH  PAOGRESS  OF  BR&OUR.      43 

Aa  axles  sometimes  kindle  as  they  gOj) 

ChaTd  him,  and  brofight  dull  nature  to  a  ^w  ; 

Or  whether  clearer  skies  and  sofVer  air, 

That  make  Italian  flow'rs  so  sweet  and  fiur,  410 

Freshening  his  lazy  spirits  as  he  ran, 

Unlblded  genially  and  spread  the  man : 

Returning  he  proclairas  by  many  a.  grac«> 

By  shrugs  and  strange  coBtortiom  of  his  fiuM, 

How  much  a  donee,  that  has  been  teat  to  roaiBt      415 

Excels  a  dunce,  that  has  been  kept  at  home. 

Accomplishaieiits  kaivm  taken  virtae's  plac^y 
And  wisdom  &Ub  befi>Fe  ezterieur  grace : 
We  slight  tiie  piecioas  kernel  of  the  stone, 
And  toil  to  polish  it/i  rough  coat  alone.  490 

A  just  deportment,  manners  grae'd  with  ease, 
Elegant  phrase,  and  figure  fona'd  to  please,   . 
Are  qualities  that  seem  to  comprehend 
Wliatever  parents,  guardians,  sohoole,  hiteiMl } 
Hence  an  imfumish'd  and  a  listless  nand,  435 

Though  busy,  trifling }  empty,  thoa^  reifiM  > 
Hence  all  that  interferes,  and  dafes  to  elosk 
With  indolence  and  luxury,  is  trash : 
While  learning,  onee  Uie  man's  OKehi^Te  fUidi^ 
Seems  verging  fast  toward*  ihd  ^mid«  flkfet  4)0 

Learning  itself,  reoeiVd  into  a  mind 
By  nature  weak,  or  Ticiously  mc\m% 
Serves  but  to  lead  philotophenbastr^y, 
Where  children  woidd  witii  ease  diieem  the  Hhif, 
And  of  all  arts  sagacious  dupes  hiveilty  436 

To  cheat  themselves  and  gain  Uie  wortd^eaMiilfi 
The  wor^  is^--Sertpture  warp'd  from  its  intent 

The  carriage  bowls  akmg,  and  all  are  pleasM 
[f  Tom  be  sober,  and  the  wheels  well  greas*d ; 
But  if  the  rogue  have  gone  a  cnp  toe  fkr,  440 

Lefl  out  hb  linchpin  or  forgot  his  tar^ 
It  BuiTers  interruption  and  delay. 
And  meets  with  hind'rance  in  the  smoothest  way 
When  some  hypoUifssis  sbsurd  and  vain 


44  TIIE  PROGRESS  OF  ERROUR. 

Has  fiird  with  all  its  fumes  a  critick's  brain,  445 

The  text,  that  sorts  not  with  his  darling  whim, 

Thoujrh  plain  to  others,  is  obscure  to  him. 

Tho  will  made  subject  to  a  lawlesa  force, 

All  is  irregular  and  out  of  course ; 

And  judgment  drunk,  and  brib'd  to  lose  his  wa/i      450 

Winks  hard,  and  talks  of  darkness  at  noonday. 

A  critick  on  the  sacred  book  sliould  be 
Candid  and  learn'd,  dispassionate  and  freo » 
Free  from  the  wayward  bias  bigots  feel, 
From  fimcy*s  influence,  and  intemperate  zeal ;         455 
But  above  all,  (or  let  the  wretch  refrain. 
Nor  touch  tlie  page  he  cannot  but  profane,) 
Free  from  the  domineering  power  of  lust ; 
A  lewd  interpreter  is  nevejr  just. 

How  shall  I  speak  thee',  or  tliy  power  address,      4G0 
Thou  god  of  our  idolatry,  the  press  ? 
By  tliee,  religion,  liberty,  and  laws, 
Exert  their  influence,  and  advance  thqir  cause  ; 
By  tliee  worse  plagues  than  Pharaoh's  land  befell, 
Diffused,  make  earth  the  vestibule  of  Hell ;  465 

Thou  fountain,  at  which  drink  the  good  and  wise ; 
Thou  ever-bubbling  spring  of  endless  lies ; 
Like  Eden's  dread  probationary  tree. 
Knowledge  of  good  and  evil  is  from  tliee. 

No  wild  enthusiast  ever  yet  could  rest,  470 

Till  half  mankind  were  Uke  himself  possessed.  « 

Pliilosophers,  who  darken  and  put  out 
Eternal  truth  by  everlasting  doubt ; 
Church  quacks,  with  passions  under  no  command, 
Who  fill  the  world  with  doctrmes  contraband,  475 

Discoverers  of  tJ«ey  know  not  what,  confin'd 
Within  noi)ounds— the  bUnd  that  load  the  blind  j 
To  streams  of  popular  opinion  drawn. 
Deposit  in  those  sliallows  all  their  spawn. 
The  wriggling  fry  soon  fill  the  creeks  around,  480 

Pois'ning  the  waters  where  their  swarms  abound 
Scorn'd  by  the  nobler  tenants  of  tho  flood. 


THE  PROGRESS  OP  ERROUR.  45 

Minnfows  and  grndgeons  gorge  the  trnwholesome  food. 

The  propagated  myriads  spread  to  fast, 

E'en  Lewenhoeck  hunself  wonid  stand  agfaa^         485 

Employ *d  to  calftnhite'  th'  enormous  sum, 

And  own  hi*  orah<«onipiiting  powers  o'erconH; 

Is  this  hyperbole  ^    The  worid'weU  known, 

Tour  sober  thought*  wffl  hardly  find  it  one. 

Fresh  confidence  tlie  specnlotist  takes  400 

From  every  hair-brain*d  proaelyte  he  makeii : 
And  therefore  prints.    Himself  but  halfdoceiT'd, 
Tin  others  hare  the  sooihing  tale  beliey'd. 
Hence  comment  after  c^Hnment,  spun  as  fhie 
As  bloated  spiders  draw  the  flimsy  line.  49S 

Hence'  the  same  word,  that  bids  our  lusts  obey. 
Is  misapplied  to  sanctify  their  sway. 
If  stubborn  Greek  refuse  to  be  his  friend, 
Hebrew  or  Syriack  shall  be  fore'd  to  bend. 
If  languages  and  copies  all  cry,  No—  500 

Somobody  prov'd  it  centuries  ago. 
Like  trout  pursued,  the  critick  in  despair 
Darts  to  the  mud,  and  finds  his  safety  there. 
Women,  whom  custom  has  forbid  to  fly 
The  scholar's  pitch,  (the  scholar  best  knows  why,)  50^ 
With  all  the  simple  and  unletter'd  poor, 
Admire  his  learning,  and  almost  adorft. 
Whoever  errs,  the  priest  can  ne*er  bo  wrong, 
With  such  fine  words  familiar  td  his  tongue. 

Ye  ladies  I  (for  indifTrent  in  your  cause,  510 

I  should  deserve  to  fbrfbit  all  applause,) 
Whatever  shocks  or  gives  the  least  oflenc^^ 
To  virtue,  delicacy,  truth,  or  sense 
(Try  the  criterion,  'tis  a  faithful  guide,) 
Nor  has,  nor  can  have,  Scripture  on  its  side.  *         51S 

None  but  an  author  knows  an  author's  eares^ 
Or  Fancy's  fondness  for  the  child  she  bear*; 
Committed  once  into  the  publick  arms, 
The  baby  SeeMs  to  stnile  with  added  charms. 
Like  something  precious  ventur'd  far  firom  shoro,    6(l{§ 


46  THE  PROORBSS  OF  ERROUa 

Tis  valued  for  the  dang:er*s  sake  the  more. 

He  views  it  with  complacency  supremo, 

Solicits  kihd  attention  to  his  dream ; 

And  daily  more  enamnur'd  of  the  cheat 

Kneels,  and  asks  Heav'n  to  bless  the  dear  deceit.     6k5 

So  one,  whose  story  serves  at  least  to  show 

Men  lov*d  their  own  productions  \wng  ago, 

Woo*d  an  unfeeling  statue  for  his  wife,    . 

Nor  rested  till  the  gods  had  giv'n  it  life. 

If  some  mere  driv'ller  suck  the  sugar*d  fib,  530 

One  that  still  needs  his  leading  string  and  bib. 

And  praise  his  genius,  he  is  so^n  repaid 

In  praise  applied  to  the  same  part — his  head  * 

For  'tis  a  rule,  that  holds  for  ever  true, 

Grant  me  discernment," and  I  grant  it  you.  530 

Patient  of  contradiction  as  a  child. 
Affable,  humble,  diffident,  and  mild  ; 
Such  was  Sir  Isaac,  and  such  Boyle  and  Locke : 
Your  blund'rer  is  as  sturdy  as  a  rock* 
The  creature  is  so  sure  to  kick  and  bite,  640 

A  muleteer's  the  man  to  set  him  right. 
First  Appetite  enlists  him  Truth's  sworn  foe, 
Then  obstinate  Self-will  confirms  him  so. 
Tell  him  he  wanders  ;  tliat  his  crrour  leads 
T<y  fatal  ills  ;  that,  tho'  the  path  he  treads  54& 

Be  flow'ry,  and  he  see  no  cause  of  fear, 
Death  and  the  pains  of  Hell  attend  him  there  ;         # 
In  vain :  tho  slave  of  arrogance  and  pride, 
Ho  has  no  hearing  on  the  prudent  side. 
His  still-refuted  quirks  he  still  repeats  ;  650 

New-rais'd  objections  with  new  quibbles  meets ; 
Till,  sinking  in  the  quicksand  he  defends. 
He  dies  disputing,  and  the  contest  ends — 
But  not  the  mischiefs  ;  they,  still  left  behind, 
Like  thistle  seeds,  are  sown  by  every  wind.  660 

Thus  men  go  wrong  with  an  ingenious  skill ; 
Bend  the  straight  rule  to  their  own  crooked  will ; 
And  with  a  clear  and  shining  .^Amp  supphed,  -< 


THE  ^JtOGRBSS  OF  ERROUIt  47 

First  put  it  out,  then  take  it  for  a  guide. 

Halting  on  crutches  of  unequal  size,  GOO 

One  leg  by  truth  sui^tortedy  one  by  lies  ; 

They  sidle  t»the  goal  with  afwkward  pace, 

Secure  of  nothing — but  to  k«o  the  race. 

Faults  in  the  life  breed  errours  in  the  braioy 
And  these  reciprocal^  those  again.  566 

The  mind  and  conduct  mutually  imprint 
And  fltanp  theii  image  in  each  other's  mini ; 
Each  sire,  and  dam,  of  an  infernal  race, 
Begetting  and  conceiving  all  that's  base. 

None  sends  his  arrow  to  the  mark  in  riew,  §70 

Whose  hand  is  feeble,  or  his  aim  untrue. 
For  tho*,  ere  yet  the  shaft  is  on  the  Wing, 
Or  when  it  first  forsakes  th'  elostick  siring, 
It  err  but  little  from  th'  intended  line, 
It  falls  at  last  far  wide  q£  his  design ;  57S 

So  ho,  wlio  seeks  a  mansion  in  tlie  sky, 
Must  watch  his  purpose  with  a  steadfast  eyo. 
Th&t  prize  belongs  to  none  but  the  ftincere, 
The  least  obliquity  is  fatal  here. 

With  caution  tasto  the  sweet  Circoan  cup:  580 

He  that  sips  often  at  last  drinks  it  up. 
Habits  are  soon  assum'd ;  but  when  we  striy# 
To  strip  theni  otf,  'tis  being  flay'd  alive.  ♦ 

Caird  to  the  temple  of  impuro  delight. 
Ho  that  abstains,  and  ho  idone,  does  right  586 

If  a  wish  wander  tliat  way,  call  it  home  ; 
He  cannot  long  be  safe  whose  wishes  roam. 
Bot,  if  you  pass  the  threshold,  you  are  caught ; 
Die  then,  if  pow'r  Almighty  save  you  not. 
There  hardening  by  degrees,  till  double  steel'd,         590 
Take  leave  of  Nature's  God,  and  God  reveal'd ; 
Then  laugh  at  all  you  trembled  at  before  ; 
And,  joining  the  free  thinkers'  brutal  roar. 
Swallow  the  two  grand  nostrums  they  dispense- 
That  Scripture  lies,  and  blasphemy  is  sense.  '596 


m  THE  PBOUEBSS  OF  ERROUR. 

If  clemency  revolted  by  abuse 

Be  damnabio,  then  dainn'd  without  ezonse. 

Some  dream  that  they  c«m  silence  when  they  wcD, 
The  storm  of  passion,  and  say,  ^^  Peocs,  h4  still ;" 
But,  "  Thus  far  tmd  no  further;'  wheM  addressed    6Q0 
To  the  wild  wave,  or  wUder  Iraman  hreast, 
lB^>Iies  authority  that  never  casi. 
That  never  ougrht  to  be  the  lot  of  man. 

But,  muse^  forbear ;  long  ^flights  forebode  a£dl ; 
Strike  on  the  doep-ton'd  chord  theaum  of  all.  G06 

Hear  the  just  law — the  judgment  of  the  skies  \ 
He  that  hates  toruth  sbdl  bo  the  dupe  of  lies: 
And  he  that  wUl  be  cheated  to  the  last, 
Delusions  strong  as  Hell  shall  bind  him  fast. 
But  if  the  wand'fer  his  mistake  discern,  610 

Judge  his  own  ways  and  sigh  for  a  return, 
Bewilder 'd  once,  must  he  bewail  his  loss 
Fer  ever  and  for  ever  ?    ^2h-<-tho  escoss ! 
There,  and  there  only,  (though  the  deist  rave. 
And  atheist,  if  earth  bear  'so  base  a  slave ;)  616 

There,  and  there  only,  is  the  power  to  save. 
There  no  delusive  hope  invites  despair ; 
No  mockVy  meets  you,  no  deception  there. 
The  spells  and  charms,  that  blinded  you  be£bi% 
All  vanish  there,  and  fascinate  no  more.  €2i 

I  am  no  preacher,  let  this  hint  suffice — 
The  cross  once  seen  is  death  to  ev*ry  vice ; 
Eise  he  that  hung  theco^  su0br*d  all  his  pain, 
Bled,  groan'dy  and  ogoni^'d,  and  died  in  j 


TRUTH. 


Penaantur  trutinA-^HoR.  Lib.  II.  Epist.  1. 

MAN,  on  the  ^^MbkfOB^^t^w  oferfow  toa»'dy 
His  ship  half  founder'd,  and  hit«o]iip«JW  iosi, 
Sees  far  as  humaa  opticks  amy  coraniaBd, 
A  sleeping  fog,  and  ftuoies  it  dry  laad  \ 
Spreads  all  his  canvass,  ev'ry  sinew  pUes;  ^ 

Pants  for't,  aims  at  it,  enters  it,  imd  dies  I 
Hien  farewell  all  self-sati^yingf  ^oheroes, 
His  well-binlt  systems,  philosophit^  di>eain8 
Deceitful  views  of  future  Miss,  fivdwell ! 
He  read»  his  sentenee  at  the  flames  of  Hell.  10 

Hard  lot  of  maar-to  toil  for  the  revmrd 
Of  virtue,  aiid  yet  lose  it !  Wherefore  hard .' — 
He  that  would  wm  the  taoe  roust  guide  has  horse 
Obedient  to  the  eustoros  of  the  course ; 
Else,  tho'  uneqna]!*d  to  the  goal  he  flies,  15 

A  meaner  than  himsrif  ii&ail  gain  the  prixe. 
Qrace  leads  the  rigiit  way ;  if  you  4dioese  tho  wrong, 
Take  it  and  perish ;  but  restrain  your  tongue ; 
Charge  not  with  light  suflieient,  and  left  free, 
Your  wilful-swcide  on  God's  decree.  20 

Oh  how  unlike  the  eompiex  works  of  man, 
Hbav*n*8  easy,  artless,  unencumber'd  plan  I 
No  meretrioiottt  graces  to  beguile, 
No  clust'ring  ornaments  to  clog  the  pile ; 
From  ostentation  as  iVom  weakness  fre»,  25 

It  stands  like  the  cerulean  arch  we  aoe, 
Majcstick  in  its  own  simplicity. 

Vol.  I.  5 


50  TRUTH. 

Inscribed  above  the  portal,  from  afar' 

Cbnspicuous  as  the  brightness  of  a  stiir. 

Legible  only  by  the  light  the}'  give,  30 

Stand  the  soul-quick *ning  words — bcUeve  qnd  live. 

Too  many,  shock'd  at  what  should  charm  them  most, 

Despise  the  plain  direction,  and  are  lost. 

Heav'n  on  such  temm !  (they  cry  with  proud  disdain,) 

Incredible,  impossible,  and  vain ! —  ,     35 

Rebel,  because  *tis  easy  to  obey : 

And  scorn,  for  its  own  sake,  the  gracious  way. 

These  are  the  sober,  in  whose  cooler  brains 

Some  tliought  of  immortality  remains ;  . 

The  rest  too  busy  or  too  gay  to  wait  40 

On  the  sad  theme,  their  everlasting  stato, 

Sport  for  a  day,  and  perish  in  a  night, 

The  foam  upon  the  waters  not  so  light. 

Who  judg'd  the  pharisee  ?    What  odious  cause 
Exposed  him  to  the  vengeance  of  the  ISiws  ?  4t 

Had  he  seduc'd  a  virgin,  wrong'd  a  friend,  *  ' 
Or  stabb'd  a  man  to  serve  some  private  end  ? 
Was  blasphemy  his  sin  P  Or  did  he  stray 
From  the  strict  duties  of  the  sacred  day  ? 
Sit  long  and  late  at  the  carousing  board  ?  b^ 

(Such  were  the  sins  with  which  he  charg'd  his  Lol^.) 
No— the  man's  morals  were  exact,  what  then  ? 
*Twas  his  ambition  to  be  seen  of  men ; 
His  virtues  wtjre  his  pride ;  and  that  one  vice 
Made  all  his  virtues  gewgaws  of  no  price ;  '  65 

He  wore  them  as  fine  trappings  for  a  ^ow, 
A  praying,  83magogue-froquenting  beau. 
The  self-applauding  bird,  the  peacock,  se&— ^ 
Mark  what  a  sumptuous  pharisee  is  he  ! 
Meridian  sunbeams  tempt  him  to  unfold  €^ 

H:3  radiant  glories,  azure,  green,  and  gjold; 
He  treads  as  if  some  solemn  musick  near. 
His  measur'd  step  wore  governed  by  his  ear  ; 
And  seems  to  say — ^Y*  meaner  fowl,  give  placo^ 
I  am  all  splendour,  dignity,  and  grace !  65 


TRUTH.  fil 

'Not  so  the  pheasant  on  his  charms  presamMiy 
Though  he  too  has  a  glory  in  his  plumes, 
He,  christian-like,  retreats  with  modest  mica 
To  the  elose  copse,  or  far  soquester'd  green. 
And  shines  without  desiring  to  be  seen.  70 

The  plea  of  works,  as  arrogant  and  vain, 
Heay*n  turns  from  with  abhorrence  and  disdaui ; 
Not  more  affronted  by  avow'd  neglect, 
Than  by  the  mere  dissemUer^s  fisign'd  respect. 
What  is  all  righteousness  that  men  devise  ?  75 

What — but  a  sordid  bargain  ibr  the  skies  ? 
But  Christ  ati  aoo|i  Would  abdicate  his  own, 
As  stoop  from  Heav'n  to  sell  tho  proud  a  thron» 

His  dwelling  a  recess  in  some  rode  rock. 
Book,  beads,  and  maple  disli,  his  meagre  stock  •  80 

In  shirt  of  hair  and  weeds  of  canvass  diess'd. 
Girt  with  a  bell  rope  that  the  pope  has  blessed ', 
Adust  with  stripes  told  out  for  ev>y  crime, 
And  sore  tormented  long  before  his  time ; 
His  pray'r  preferred  to  sainta  that  cannot  aid ;  65 

His  praise  postponed,  and  never  to  be  paid ', 
See  the  sage  hermit,  by  mankind  admir'd. 
With  all  that  big<»try  adopts  inspir'd, 
Wearing  out  life  in  his  religious  whim. 
Till  his  religious  whimsy  wears  out  him.  .  90 

His  works,  his  abstinence,  his  zeal  allow'd. 
You  think. him  humble— Qod  accounts  him  proud ; 
High  in  demand,  though  lowly  in  pretence. 
Of  all  his  conduct  tliis  the  genuine  sense-^ 
My  penitential  stripes,  my  streaming  blood,  05 

Have  purchas'd  Heav'n,  and  prov'd  my  title  good. 
Turn  eastward  now,  and  Fancy  si  i  all  apply 
To  your  weak  sight  her  telescopic  k  eye. 
The  bramin  kindles  on  his  own  bare  head 
The  sacred  fire,  sclf-torturmg  his  trade  ;  100 

His  voluntary  pains,  severe  and  long, 
Would  give  a  barbarous  air  to  British  song ; 
No  grand  inquisitor  oould  worse  invent, 


'cra£= 


5&  TRUTH 

Than  h«  coBtrives  to  sofT^r,  well  content. 

Which  is  the  saintHer  worthy  of  th*  twof  IBS 

Past  all  dispute,  yon  anehorite,  say  yo«. 
Your  sentence  and  mine  differ.    What  s  a  Muue^ 
I  say  the  hramin  has  the  fidrerchdin. 
If  sufferings,  Scripture  no  where  ipfcoumien^, 
Dev*  4*d  by  self  to  answer  selfish  ends,  119  '• 

Give  saintship,  then*  all  Europe  must  aigvett-    . 
Ten  starving  hermits  snflbr  less  than  he; 
.    The  truth,  is,  (if  the  truth  may  suit  your  ear 
And  prejudice  hare  left  a  passage  dear,) 
Pride  has  attained  its  most  luxuriant  *gtoWtii^  115 

And  poison'd  eT*ry  virtue  in  them  both. 
Pride  may  be  pamper*d  while  the  ilei^  growi  ksBi; 
Humility  may  cloUie  an  Engli^  dean ; 
That  grace  was  CJowper's— his,  confess'd  by  all*— 
Though  placed  in  golden  Durham's  second  stall.       120 
Not  all  the  plenty  of  a  bishop's  board,    • 
His  palace,  and  his  lacqueys,  and  "  My  lord," 
More  nourish  pride,  that  condescending  vice, 
Tlian  abstinence,  and  b«ggary,  and  lice ; 
It  thrives  in  mis'ry,  and  fkbundant  grows;  125 

In  misery  fools  upon  themselves  impose. 

But  why  before  us  protestants  produce 
An  Indian  mystick,  or  a  French  rscluse  ? 
Their  sin  is  plain ;  but  what  have  we  to  fear, 
Reform'd  and  well  instructed  ?  You  shidl  hear.    .    180 

Yon  ancient  prude,  whose  ^ther^d  featnreaelKMv 
She  might  be  young  some  fbrty  years  ago, 
Her  elbows  pinion*d  close  upon  her  hips, 
Her  head  erect,  her  fan  upon  her  lips^ 
Her  eye-brows  areh*d,  her  eyes  both  gone  astray    135  ' 
To  watch  yon  am*rous  couple  in  their  play, 
With  bony  and  unkerchierd  neck  defies 
The  rude  inclemency  of  wintry  skies. 
And  sails  with  lappet  head  and  minckig  airs, 
Duly  at  clink  of  bell  to  morning  pray'rs.  ^       140 

To  thrift  and  parsimony  much  inclin'd. 


TRUTH.  O 

She  yet  allows  lienelf  tbtt  boy  behind ; 
'  The  9h\v*Tmg  urchiiii  bending  as  he  goes, 
With  slipshod  heels,  and  dewdrop  at  his  nose ; 
His  predecessor's  coat  advaac'd  to  wear,  li5 

Whicii  future  pages  yet  are  docnn'd  to  share. 
Carries  her. Bible  tuck'd  beneath  Ms  arm. 
And  hides  his  hands  to  keep  his  fingers  warm. 

She  half  an  angel  in  her  own  account, 
Doubts  not  hereafter  with  the  saints  to  mount.        150 
Though  not  a  grace  appears  on  strictest  search, 
But  tliat  she  fasts,  and,  item,  goes  to  church. 
Conscious  of  age  she  recollects  her  youth. 
And  tells,  not  always,  with  an  eye  to  truth. 
Who  spanned  her  waist,  and  who,  where'er  he  can  0, 
Scrawl'd  upon  glass  Miss  Bridget's  lovely  name ;    1^ 
Who^stole  her  slipper,  fill'd  it  with  tokay, 
And  drank  the  little  bumper  er'ry  day. 
Of  temper  as  ennenom'd  as  an  asp. 
Censorious,  and  her  ey'ry  word  a  wasp ;  160 

In  faithful  mem'ry  she  records  the  primes. 
Or  real  or  fictitious  of  the  times ; 
Laughs  at  the  reputations  she  has  torn. 
And  holds  them  dangling  at  arm's  length  in  scon. 

Such  are  the  fruits  of  sanctimonious  pride,  165 

Of  malice  fed  while  flesh  is  mortified  : 
Take,  Madam,  the  reward  of  all  your  prayers, 
Where  hermits  and  where  bramias  meet  with  theirs , 
Your  portion  is  with  thera^^Nay,  never  frowi^ 
But  if  you  please,  some  fathoms  lower  down.  170 

Artist,  attend-^your  brushes  and  your  paint- 
Produce  them — take  a  chair — now  draw  a  saint. 
Ok  sorrowful  and  sad !  the  streaming  tears 
Channel  her -cheeks — a:  Niobe  appears ! 
Is  this  a  saint  i"    Throw  tints  and  all  away*-  175 

True  Piety  is  cheerful  as  the  day, 
Will  weep  indeed  and  heave  a  pitying  groan 
For  others'  woes,  but  smiles  upon  her  own. 

What  purpose  has  the  King  of  saints  in  view  » 


6t  TKDTH. 

Why  falls  the  Goqnl  like  a  gnBiowdvrf  18& 

To  call  up  plenty  horn  ikff  tsenmig  earthy 

-Or  cuno  the  desert  witli  a  tei^bld  dearth? 

Is  k  that  Adam's  effiqniuip  nay  be  sav^d 

From  servile  fear,  or  be  the  ranre  ensiav^A  .^ 

To  loose  the  links  thai  ^'d  onakiiid  befiN%  ttS 

Or  bind  them  fiister  e%  and  add  stlU  mat*  f 

The  freebom  Christian  baa  no  ehams  to  prewv 

Or,  if  a  chabi,  Ike  goldes  ana  of  love ;    ' 

No  fear  attends  to  <{iieaeh  hk  gWwkg  ftras^ 

What  fear  ha  feds  1^  ftatitada  iaqnras*  190 

Shall  he  for  soeli  ddir'naea  hmAy  wvonghtr 

Recompense  HI  ?    Ha  \fVBMm$  at  the  thou^. 

His  mast8ff*8  intemsfe  and  iM  own  ooariun^d^ 

Prompt  er*zy  nunrement  of  his  heart  and  miad ; 

Thought,  word,  and  deewl,  his  liberty  aTioea^  li5 

His  freedom  u  the  firee<k>ni  of  a  prince^ 

Man's  obligations  infinite^  of  coarse 
His  life  should  prove  that  ka  percetres  their  fetea  f 
His  utmost  he  eaa  render  is  but  small — 
The  principle  and  motiva  idl  in  alL  SOO 

You  have  two  serT8nts>^Tora,  an  ^nik,  df  rogva, 
Prom  top  to  toe  the  Crata  now  m  togvOf 
Genteel  in  figure,  eai^  in  address. 
Moves  without  nois^  and  swifl  ss  airexpreify 
Reports  a  message  with  a  pleasing  graea,  IM 

Expert  in  all  the  daties  of  his  place  ; 
Say,  on  what  hinge  does  hts  obedienee  mava  f 
Has  he  a  world  of  gratitude  and  love  ? 
Ne,  not  a  i^>ark-^*tis  all  mere  riiarper's  ptay 
He  likes  your  house,  your  housemaid,  and  your  pay ; 
Reduce  his  wages,  or  get  rid  of  her,  911 

Tom  quits  you,  with— -Your  most  obedient,'  Sir. 

The  dinner  serv'd,  Charles  takes  his  usual  stand, 
Watches  your  eye,  anticipates  command  ; 
Sighs,  if  perltaps  your  appetite  should  fail ;  21S 

And,Jf  he  but  suspects  a  frown,  turns  pale ; 
Consults  all  day  your  interest  ar.d  your  case, 


J 


TEITTH. 

Ricblf  rewanWif  Im  en  but  \ , 

And,  proud  to  auikM  hi«  fina  attedmeBt  \aumu, 

To  flare  your  Ufiit  would  nakty  rak  hkenmu  990 

Now  which  •iamb  faifheat  m  ymm.mnMOM  thooglrt  i 
Charles,  withou*  dovbty  m^  7MK»-«n4  so  b»  oogfat ; 
Qae  act,  tfaift  fimn  atkBaldbi  iMart  praoeada, 
Excels  ten  thousand  UMveenary  daada> 
Thus  HeaY*n  approf«s  as  bsuest  and  shRera,  93ft 

l^hc  work  of  gentians  kvet  and  filial  ftar ; 
But  with  ayerted  ejpea  th'  omnkrisiit  Madgm 
Sooms  the  base  hiraliiigvand  the  slmrisb  dfttd^. 
Where  dwell  these matdileaB  samts f— «id  Curie «iea : 
Ey'n  at  your  nda,  Sir,  and  befen  your  eyes,  930 

The  favour'd  finr^th*  enthusiasts  yo«  despise^ 
And  pleas'd  at  heart,  because  oa  holy  gfomid 
Sometiipes  a  canting  hypocrite  is  fbuad, 
Reproach  a  people  with  a  smgrle  &1], 
And  cast  his  filthy  garaieiit  at  them  aU.  9SS 

AttemlK-an  apt  sbuMtude  shall  shew 
Whence  springs  the  eeoduct  that  offends  yott  seu 

See  where  it  smokes  alonf  the  somdkig  phihi, 
Blown  all  adaat,  a  driving,  daihiag'  rehiy 
Peal  upon  peal  redoubling  all  around^  9|0 

Shakes  it  again  and  fiister  te  tiie  ^feuad  r 
Sow  flashily  wide»  new  glaaeiag  as  m  play,^ 
'SNr^  beyond  thou^t  the  lightnings  dart  away* 
Rre  yet  it  came  the  tra^'Uer  urg*d  his  steed. 
And  hurried,  but  with  wtsueeeesfol  i^>eed ;  345 

Now  drench'd  throughout,  and  hop^ess  of  his  oue, 
He  drops  the  rein,  and  leaves  him  to  his  paeew  / 

Suppose,  unlook'd  for  in  a  seen^so  rude, 
Long  hid  by  interposing  hHl  or  wood. 
Some  mansion,  neat  and  elegantly  dressed,  960 

By  some  kind  hospitable  heart  possessed* 
Offer  him  warmth,  security,  and  rest ; 
Think  with  what  pleasure,  safe,  and  at  his  ease 
He  hears  the  tempest  howling  in  the  trees ; 
What  glowing  thanks  his  lips  and  heart  employ       255 


M  TRUTH. 

While  danger  past  it  iorn'd  to  preaeat  jo/. 
80  fiiros  it  with  the  sinner,  when  he  feehi    • 
A  grrowing  dread  of  vengeaace  at  his  heels ; 
His  eonscience)  like.a  glas^  kke  before, 
Losh'd  into  loaniiog  waves  begins  to  rear ',  SCO 

The  law  grown  damoroos,  though  silent  long« 
Arraigns  him,— charges  him  with  ev'ry  wrong- 
Asserts  the  ii|^  of  his  ^fended  Lord, 
And  death  or  restitution  is  the  word ; 
The  last  impossible-*-^  ftars  the  first,  265 

And,  havuig  well  deserv'd,  expects  the  worst. 
Then  welcome  reiuge,  and  &  peaiceful  home  ; 
(Ml  fi>r  a  shelter  from  the  wcath  to  eome  i 
Crush  me,je  rocks;  ye  fiilling  mountains,  hide 
Or  bury  me  in  ocean's  angry  tide—  270 

The  scrutiny  of  those  ail-seeing  eyes 
I  dare  not — And  you  need  not,  God  replies : 
The  remedy  you  want  I  freely  give ; 
The  book  shall  teach  you— read,  bdiieve,  and  live. 
Tis  done — the  raging  storm  is  heard  no  more,         275 
Mercy  receives  him  on  her  peaceful  shore ; 
And  justice,  guardian  of  the  dread  conunond, 
Drops  the  red  vengeance  from  his  willing  hand. 
A  soul  redeemed  demands  a  life  of  praise  v 
Hence  the  complezi<m  of  his  future  days,  280 

Hence  a  demeanour  holy  and  unspeck'd, 
And  the  wodU's  hatred,  as  its  sure  effect. 

Some  lead  a  hfe  unblamable  and  just, 
Their  own  dear  virtue  their  unshaken  trust : 
Tliey  never  sin— or  if,  (as  all  offend,)  2S5 

Some  trivial  slips  their  diily  walk  attend, 
The  poor  are  near  at  hand,  the  chaige  is  small, 
A  slight  gratuity  atones  for  all. 
For  though  the  pope  has  lost  liis  int'rest  here, 
And  pardons  are  not  sold  as  oncef  they  were,  290 

No  papist  more  desirous  (o  compound, 
Than  some  grave  siiuiers  upon  Englisli  ground. 
That  plea  refuted,  other  quirks  they  seek — 


J- 


TRUTH.  m 

Mercy  ii  iniinite,  and  man  U  weak ; 
The  future  shall  oUtter^  the  past,  2» 

And  Heav'n  no  doubt  shall  bo  their  homo  vilaat 

Come  then-*€.  still  small  whisper  is  your  ea»^ 
He  has  no  hope  who  never  had  a.  fbar  \ 
And  he  that  nevisr  doviited  of  hi»  state, 
He  may  pei^pepS'  perhape  he  natyi   loo  late.  8011 

The  path  to  bliss  abeaade  witfa  maoya  «ia»{ 
Le&minf  is  oae>  andiwil,  however  rare^ 
The  Frenchman,  first  in  litefas3r  ^w^ 
(Mention  hHn  if  you  ptoaas.  Voltana  ?-^T1m  noM^) 
With  splntj  geaiosy  ele<|iien8o,  supplied,  98S 

Liv'd  long',  wrote  jnnefa,  llMqrh!d!h0Uti^v<uid  died ; 
The  Scripture  waa  hia  jest  book,  whenee  be  dww 
Bon  mots  to  gall  the  Christian  and  the  Jew ; 
An  infidel  in  health,  b«^  what  when  sick? 
Oh — then  a  text  would  towh  him  at  the  qoiofc^      3IOr- 
View  liim  at  Paris  in  hia  last  caieeiv 
Surrounding  tiirongs  the  demigod  reveie, 
Exalted  on  his  pedestal  of  pride) 
And  fiun'd  with  fronkineense  on  ev'ry  side, 
He  begs  tlieir  (lattery  with  hia  latest  breath,  SUA 

And  smother'd  in't  at  last,  is  prais^  to  deaths 

Yon  cottager,  who  weaves  at  her  own  deor, 
Pillow  and  bobbins  all  her  httle  store  ; 
Content,  though  mean,  and  cheerful  if  net  gay 
Shuffling  her  threads  about  the  livelong  day,  399 

Just  earns  a  scanty  pittance,  and  at  night 
Lies  down  secure,  her  Iteort  and  pocket  light ; 
She,  for  her  humble  sphere  by  nal  to  fit, 
Has  little  understanding,  and  no  wit, 
Receives  no  praise  ;  but  though  hor  lot  be  suoh^      SUd 
(Toilsome  and  indigent^)  she  rendors  much : 
Just  knows,  and.  knows  no^more,  her  Bible  tn»— 
A  truth  the  brilliant  Fl^enelimaa  never  knew  ; 
And  in  that  oharter  rood^  witli  sparkling  eyes 
Her  title  to  a  treasure  in  the  skies*  TSfi 

O  happy  peasant !  Oh  unhappy  bard  ! 


) 


fi8  TRUTH. 

His  the  jjiere  tinsel,  hors  the  rich  reward  i 

He  prais'd  perhaps  for  agre'p  yet  to  come, 

She  never  heard  of  half  a  mile  from  home : 

He,  lost  in  errours,  his  yain  heart  prelers,  335 

She,  safe  in  the  sironlicity  of  hers. 

Not  many  wise,  rich,  noble,  or  profound 
In  science,  win  one  inch  of  heavenly  ground. 
And  is  it  not  a  mortifying  thought 
TJie  poor  should  gain  it,  and  the  rich  should  coi.     340 
No, — the  voluptuaries,  who  ne*er  forget 
One  pleasure  lost,  lose  Heav*n  without  regret ; 
Regret  would  rouse  them,  and  give  birth  to  pray*r, 
Pray'r  would  add  &ith,  and  faith  would  fix  them  there. 
Not  that  the  Former  of  us  all,  in  tins,  345 

.  Or  ought  he  does,  is  govem*d  by  caprice ; 
The  supposition  is  replete  with  sin. 
And  bears  the  brand  of  blasphemy  bum*d  in. 
Not  so— the  silver  trumpet's  heav'nly  call 
Sounds  for  the  poor,  but  sounds  alike  for  all :  350 

Kings  are  invited,  and  would  ^ings  obey, 
No  slaves  on  earth  more  welcome  wore  than  they ; 
But  royalty,  nobility,  and  state. 
Are  such  a  dead  preponderating  weight. 
That  endless  bliss,  (how  strange  soe'er  it  seem,)      355 
In  counterpoise,  flies  up  and  kicks  the  beam. 
*Tis  open,  and  ye  cannot  enter, — why  ? 
Because  ye  will  not,  Conyers  would  reply — 
And  ho  says  much  that  many  may  dispute 
And  cavil  at  with  ease,  but  none  refute.  360 

O  bless'd  effect  of  penury  and  want, 
The  seed  sown  there,  how  vigorous  is  the  plant ! 
No  soil  like  poverty  for  growth  divine, 
As  leanest  land  supplies  the  richest  wine. 
Earth  gives  too  little,  giving  only  bread,  965 

To  nourish  pride,  or  tupi  the  weakest  head : 
To  them  the  sounding  jargon  of  the  schools 
Seems  what  it  is — a  cap  and  bells  for  fools : 
The  light  tliey  walk  by,  kindled  from  above, 


TRUTH.  » 

Shows  tlicm  Iho  sl^oilcst  way.to  life  and  low  ;         370 
Tficy,  stmn^rs  to  lh«  conlrovereial  field, 
Where  deists,  alwaytf  foiVd,  yet  scorn  to  yield, 
And  neyer  chedk'd  by  what  impedes  the  wise, 
Believe,  rush  forward,  and  possess  tlie  prize. 
Envy,  yo  ^reat,  the  dull  unletter'd  small :  375 

Ye  have  much  cause  for  envy — but  not  all. 
Wo  boast  some  rich  ones  whom  the  Oospel  sways, 
A  nd  one  who  wears  a  coronet,  and  prays  ; 
Like  gleanings  of  an  olive  tre«  they  show 
Here  and  there  one  upon  the  topmost  bough.  380 

How  readily  upon  the  Gospel  plan; 
That  question  has  its  answer — ^What  is  man  ? 
SlnfUl  and  weak,  in  er*ry  sense  a  wretch  ; 
An  instrument,  wh<>8e  chords,  upon  the  stretch, 
And  strain'd  to  the  lant  screw  that  he  can  bear,       385 
Yield  only  discord  in  his  Maker's  ear^: 
Once  the  bless'd  residence  of  truth  divine, 
Glorious  as  Solyma*8  int^iour  shrine, 
Where,  in  his  own  oracular  abode. 
Dwelt  visibly  the  light-creating  God :  390 

But  made  long  since  like  Babylon  of  old, 
A  den  of  miscliiefe  never  to  be  told ; 
And  she,  once  mistress  of  the  realms  around. 
Now  scattered  wide,  and  no  where  to  be  found, 
As  soon  shall  rise  and  reascend  the  throne,  395 

By  native  pow*r  and  energy  her  own, 
As  Nature  at  her  own  peculiar  dost. 
Restore  to  man  the  glories  he  has  lost. 
Go— bid  the  winter  cease  tjo  chill  the  year, 
F.c|>lice  the  wand'ring  comet  in  his  sphere,  lOQ 

Then  boast,  (but  wait  for  that  unhop'd-for  hour,) 
Tlio  self-restoring  arm  of  human  pow'r. 
But  what  is  man  in  his  own  proud  esteem  ?  - 
Hear  him — himself  the  poet  and^e  theme: 
A  monarch  cloth'd  with  majosty  and  awe,  409 

His  Mind,  his  kingdom,  and  his  will,  his  law ; 
Grace  in  his  mien,  and  glory  in  his  eyes,  * 


m  rauTH. 

Soprenio  on  earthy  and  worthy  of  Um  skies, 

Strength  in  his  heai't,  dominion  in  his  nod, 

And  thunderbolts  sxoepted)  quite  a  god !  410 

So  sings  he,  duum^d  with  his  own  mind  and  fomit 

The  song  magnifioent — the  theme  a  worm ! 

Himself  so  much  the  source  of  his  delight, 

His  Maker  has  no  beauty  in  his  sight. 

See  where  he  sits,  c<mtomplatiye  and  fi]C*d,  41& 

Ploadure  and  wonder  in  his  features  ntiz'd ; 

His  passions  tam'd,  and  all  at  his  control, 

How  perfect  the  composure  of  his  soul  i 

Complacency  haslxeath'd  a  gentle  gale 

O'er  all  his  thoughts,  and  sweil'd  his  easy  sail :        4^ 

His  books  well  triinm'd  and  in  the  gayest  style 

Like  regimented  coxcombs  rank  and  file, 

Adorn  his  intellects  as  weil  a»shelyes, 

And  teach  him  notions  splendid  as  themselres : 

The  Bible  only  elands  neglected  there,  425 

Though  that  of  all  mcNSi  worthy  of  his  care ; 

And  like  an  infant,  troublesome  awake. 

Is  led  to  bleep  for  peace  and  quiet  sake. 

What  shall  the  man  deserve  of  human  k^id, 
Whose  happy  skill  and  industry  combined  43§ 

Shall  prove,  (what  argument  could  never  yet,) 
The  Bible  an  imposture  and  a  cheat  ? 
The  praises  of  the  libertine  profess'd, 
The  worst  of  men,  and  eurses  of  the  best. 
Where  ehould  the  lifli%,  weeping  o'er  his  woes;     435 
The  dying,  trembling  at  the  awful  dose ; 
Where  the  betray'd,  forsaken,  and  oppressed. 
The  thousands  whom  the  world  forbids  to  rest, 
Where  snould  they  fmd,  (those  comforts  at  an  end 
The  Scripture  yields,)  or  hope  to  find  a  friend  ?       440 
Sorrow  might  muse  herself  to  madness  then, 
And  seeking  exile  from  the  signt  of  men. 
Bury  herself  in  solitude  profound, 
Grov/  frantick  with  her  pangs,  and  bite  the  ground. 
Thus  often  Unbelief,  grown  sick  of  life,  445 


J 


fr= 


TRUTH.  61 

Flies  to  the  tempting  pool,  or  felon  knilb. 

The  jury  meet,  the  coroner  ia  short, 

And  lunacy  the  verdict  of  the  court ;  % 

Reverse  the  sentence,  let  the  truth  be  kiiow% 

Such  lunacy  is  ignorance  alone  ,  .  450 

They  knew  not,  what  some  bishops  may  not  know. 

That  Scripture  is  the  only  cure  of  wo ; 

That  field  of  prqmise,  how  it  flings  abroad 

Its  odour  o'er  the  Christian's  thorny  road  * 

The  soii ,  reposing  on  assur'd  relief,  455 

Feels  herself  happy  amidst  all  her  grief, 

Forgets  her  labour  as  she  toils  along. 

Weeps  tears  of  joy,  and  bursts  into  a  song.        ^ 

But  the  same  word,  that,  like  the  polish'd  share, 
Ploughs  up  the  roots  of  a  belieyer's  care,  4G0 

Kills,  too,  the  flow'ry  weeds,  where'er  they  grow, 
That  bind  the  sinner's  Bacchanalian  brow. 
Oh  that  unwelcome  voice  of  heavenly  love, 
Sad  messenger  of  mercy  from  above ! 
How  does  it  grate  upon  his  thankless  ear,  465 

Crippling  hia  pleasures  with  the  cramp  of  fear  *. 
His  will  and  judgment  at  continual  strife, 
That  civil"Vfr«r  imbitters  all  his  life  : 
In  vain  he  points  his  pow'rs  against  the  skies. 
In  vain  he  closes  or  averts  his  eyes,  470 

Truth  will  intrude — she  bids  him  yet  beware  ; 
And  shakes  the  sceptick  in  the  scomer's  chair. 

Though  various  foes  against  tUt  truth,  combine. 
Pride  above  all  opposes  her  design  *, 
Pride,  of  a  growth  superiour  to  the  ten,  473 

The  subtlest  serpent  with  the  lofliest  crest. 
Swells  at  the  thought,  and,  kindling  into  rage, 
Would  hiss  the  cherub  Mercy  firom  the  stage. 

And  is  the  soul  indeed  so  lost  ? — she  cries, 
Fall'n  from  her  glory,  and  too  weak  to  rise  ?  480 

Torpid  and  dull  beneath  a  frozen  zone, 
Has  she  no  spark  tliat  may  be  deem'd  her  own  ? 
Grant  her  indebted  to  what  zealots  call 

Vox. I  0 


=^ 


j^ 


cy 


m  TRUTH. 

Grace  undeserv'd,  yet  surely  not  for  all — 

Some  beams  of  rectitude  she  yet  displays,  485 

Some  love  of  virtue,  and  some  pow'r  to  praise ; 

Can  lift  herself  above  corporeal  things. 

And,  soaring  <5n  her  own  unborrow*d  wings, 

Possess  herself  of  all  that's  good  or  true, 

Assert  the  skies,  and  vindicate  her  due.  400 

Past  indiscretion  is  a  venial  crime, 

And  if  the  youth,  unmellow'd  yet  by  time, 

Bore  on  his  branch,  luxuriant  then  and  rude, 

Fruits  of  a  blighted  size,  austere  and  crude, 

Maturer  years  shall  happier  stores  produce,  495 

Andjneliorate  the  well-concocted  juice. 

Then,  conscious  of  lier  meritorious  zeal,  \ 

To  Justice  she  may  make  her  bold  appeal. 

And  leave  to  Mercy,  with  a  tranquil  mind. 

The  worthless  and  unfruitful  of  mankind.  500 

Hear,  then,  how  Merey,  slighted  and  defied, 

Rctprts  the  affront  against  tlie  crown  of  Pride. 

Perish  the  virtue  as  it  ought,  abhorr'd. 
And  the  fool  with  it  who  insults  his  Lord. 
The  atonement  a  Redeemer's  love  lias  wrought,      505 
Is  not  for  you — the  righteous  need  it  not 
Seest  thou  yon  harlot  wooing  all  she  meets. 
The  worn-out  nuisance  of  the  publick  streets. 
Herself  from  morn  to  night,  from  night  to  morn, 
Her  own  abhorrence,  a^d  as  much  your  scorn !         5J0 
The  gracious  show'r,  unlimited  and  free. 
Shall  fall  on  her,  when  Heav'n  denies  it  thee. 
Of  all  that  wisdom  dictates,  this  the  drift, 
That  man  is  dead  in  sin,  aild  life  a  gift. 

Is  virtue,  then,  unless  of  Christian  grov/th,  515 

Mere  fallacy,  or  foolishness,  or  both  ? 
Ten  thousand  sages  lost  in  endless  wo, 
For  ignorance  of  what  they  could  not  know  f 
That  speech  betrays  at  once  a  bigot's  tongue — 
Charge  not  a  God  with  such  outrageous  wrong.       520 
Truly  not  I — the  oartial  light  men  have, 


I" 


TRUTH.         ,  63 

My  creed  persuades  me,  well-employ'd,  may  taye ; 
While  he  that  scorns  the  noonday  beam,  perverse, 
Shall  find  the  blessing  unimproy'd,  a  curse. 
Let  heathen  worthies,  whose  exalted  mind  525 

Left  sensuality  and  dross  behind, 
Possess  for  me  their  undisputed  lot, 
And  take,  unenvied,  the  reward  they  sought. 
But  still  ui  virtue  of  a  Saviour's  plea, 
Not  blind  by  choice,  but  destin*d  not  to  see.  590 

Their  fortitude  and  wisdom  were  a  flame 
Celestial,  though  they  knew  not  whence  it  came, 
Derived  from  the  same  source  of  light  and  grace, 
That  guides  the  Christian  in  his  swifler  race ; 
Their  judge  was  conscience,  and  her  rule  their  law; 
That  rule,  pursued  with  reverence  and  with  awe,    536 
Led  them  however  falt'ring,  faint,  and  slow, 
From  what  they  knew,  to  what  they  wish'd  to  know. 
But  let  not  him,  that  shares  a  brighter  day, 
Traduce  the  splendour  of  a  noontide  ray,  540 

Prefer  the  twilight  of  a  darker  time, 
And  deem  his  base  stupidity  no  crime ; 
The  wretch,  who  slights  tlie  bounties  of  the  skies. 
And  sinks',  while  favoured  with  the  means  to  rise, 
Shall  find  them  rated  at  their  fiill  amount,  .  545 

The  ^ood  he  scom'd  all  carried  to  account. 

Marshalling  all  his  terro^rs  as  he  came, 
Thunder,  and  earthquake,  and  devouring  flame. 
From  Sinai*s  top  Jehovah  gave  the  law, 
Life  for  obedience,  death  for  ev'ry  flaw.  550 

When  the  great  sov'ieign  would  his  will  express. 
He  gives  a  perfect  rule ;  what  can  he  less  ? 
And  guards  it  with  a  sanction  as  severe 
As  vengeance  can  inflict,  or  sinners  fear  ; 
Else  his  own  glorious  rights  he  would  disclaim,        55& 
And  man  might  safely  trifle  with  his  name. 
He  bids  him  glow  with  unremitting  love 
To  all  on  earth,  and  to  himself  above  ; 
Condemns  th'  injurious  deed,  tlie  slanderous  tongue, 


64  TRUTH. 

The  thought  that  meditates  a  brother*ii  wroi^ :        060 

Brings  not  alone  the  mbro  conspicuous  part. 

His  conduct,  to  the  test,  but  tries  his  heart. 

Hark  !  universal  nature  shook  and  groaned, 
Twas  the  last  trumpet — see  the  Judge  enthrone  I 
Rouse  all  your  courage  at  your  utmost  need,  S65 

Now  sununon  ov'ry  virtue — stand  and  pUAd. 
What !  silent  ?  is  your  boasting  heard  no  mdre  f 
That  self-renouncing  wisdom  leam*d  before, 
Had  shed  immortal  glories  on  your  brow, 
That  all  your  virtues  cannot  purchase  now.  576 

.  All  joy  to  the  believer  !  He  can  speak — 
Trembling,  yet  happy ;  confident,  yet  meek. 

Since  the  dear  hour  that  brought  me  to  thy  (boC, 
And  out  up  all  my  follies  by  the  root, 
I  never  trusted  in  an  arm  but  thine,  875 

Nor  hop'd,  but  in  thy  righteousness  divine  : 
My  pray'rs  and  alms,  imperfect  and  defird, 
Were  but  the  feeble  efforts  of  a  child  ; 
Howo'er  perform 'd,  it  was  their  brightest  part 
That  they  proceeded  from  a  grateful  heart ;  680 

Cleansed. in  thine  own  all-purifying  blood, 
Forgive  their  evil,  and  accept  their  good  *, 
I  cast  them  at  thy  feet — my  only  plea 
Is  what  it  was,  dependence  upon  thee  ; 
While  struggling  in  the  vale  of  tears  below,  585 

That  never  fkiPd,  nor  shall  it  fail  mp  now. 

Angclick  gratulations  rend  the  skies, 
Pride  fsMa  unpitied,  never  more  to  rise, 
Uuiniltty  is  crown'd,  and  Faith  receiver  tfw  prise. 


EXPOSTULATION. 


Tantane,  tarn  patitns^  nuUo  certamine  tolU 
Dona  sines  f  Vimo. 

WHY  weeps  the  miue  for  England  ?  What  appeaia 
In  England's  case,  to  nM>ye  the  mus6  ta  tears  ? 
From  side  to  side  of  her  delightful  isle 
Is  she  not  doth'd  with  a  perpetual  smile  } 
Can  Nature  add  a  charm,  or  Art  confer  6 

A  new-found  luxury  not  seen  in  her  ? 
Where  under  Heav'n  is  pleasure  more  pursued, 
Or  where  does  cold  reflection  loss  intrude  ? 
Her  fields  a  rich  expanse  of  wavy  com, 
Pour'd  out  firom  Plenty's  overflowing  hora;  10 

Ambrosial  gardens,  in  which  art  supplies 
Tlie  fervour  and  the  force  oi  Indian  skies ; 
Her  peaceful  shores,  where  busy  Commerce  waits 
To  pour  his  golden  tide  through  all  her  gates ; 
Whom  fiery  suns,  that  scorch  the  russet  spice  1^ 

Of  eastern  groves,  and  oceans  floor'd  with  io^y 
Forbid  in  vain  to  push  his  daring  way 
To  darker  climes,  or  climes  of  brighter  day ; 
Whom  the  winds  wafl  where'er  the  billows' rdl, 
From  the  world's  girdle  to  the  frctf  en  polo  ;  20 

The  chariots  bounding  in  her  wheel-worn  streets, 
Her  vaults  below,  where  ev'ry  vintage  meets ; 
Her  theatres,  her  revels,  and  hor  Fports ; 
riie  scenes  to  which  not  youth  alone  resorts. 

a* 


) 


66  EXPOSTULATION. 

But  age,  in  spite  of  weakness  and  of  pain,  2S 

Still  haunts,  in  hope  to  dream  of  jrouth  again ; 

AH  speak  her  happy :  let  the  muse  lodi  round 

From  east  to  west,  no  sorrow  can  be  found  ; 

Or  only  what,  in  cottages  confin*d. 

Sighs  unregarded  to  the  passing  wind.  90 

Then  wherefore  weep  for  England  ?  l^tetafpDani 

Li  England's  case,  to  move  the  muse  to  tears  f 

The  proji^et  wept  for  Israel :  wish'd  his  eyes 
Were  fountains  fed  with  infinite  supplies : 
For  Israel  dwelt  in  robbery  and  wrong ;  35 

There  were  the  scorner's  and  the  sland*rer*s  tongue  ; 
Oathffi  used  as  plajrthings  or  convenient  tools. 
As  interest  bias'd  knaves,  or  fashion  fools ; 
Adi^*ry,  neighing  at  Ms  neighlMrar's  ddor ; 
Oppressicm,  tob^rihg  hard  to  grind  the  poor  t  40 

The  partial  balance,  and  deceitful  we^t ; 
The  treach'rottt  smite,  a  mask  for  seeret  httttf ; 
Hypocrisy,  formality  in  pray'r, 
And  the  dull  service  of  the  lip  were  there. 
Her  women,  insident  and  self-earess'd,         '  45 

By  Vanity's  unwearied  Snger  dress'd. 
Forgot  the  blush,  that  virgin  fears  impart 
To  modest  cheeks,  and  borrowed  one  from  art  * 
Were  jiist^uch  trifies,  without  worth  or  use, 
Ai^illy  pride  and  idleness  produce :  50 

CurPd,  scented,  fhrfoelow'd,  and  flounced  arotmd, 
With  feet  too  delicate  to  touch  the  ground. 
They  stretck'd  the  neck,  and  rolfd  the  wanton  c^, 
And  siffh'd  for  every  fool  that  fluttered  by. 

He  saw  his  peopte  slaves  to  ev'ry  lust,  56 

Lewd,  avaricious,  arrogant,  unjus*. : 
He  heard  the  wheels  of  an  avenging  God 
G/Toan  heavily  along  the  distant  road  j 
Saw  Babylon  set  wide  her  two-IeavM  brass 
To  let  the  military  deluge  pass ;  00 

Jerusalem  a  prey,  her  glory  jioilM, 
Ilor  princes  captive,  and  her  treasure  spoiPd : 


EXPOSTULATION.  87 

Wept  tin  all  Israel  heard  hit  Uttet  crjr^ 
Stamped  with  his  foot,  and  smote  tipoh  hi«  tfai^h ; 
But  wept,  and  stamp 'd,  and  smote  his  thigh  in  Tihi*  K 
Pleasure  is  deaf  when  told  of  futore  pain, 
And  sounds  prophetick  are  too  rough  to  suit 
Ears  long  accustomed  to  the  pleasing  lute : 
They  acom'd  his  inspiration  and  his  theme, 
Pronounced  him  frantick,  and  his  fears  a  dream ;        7B 
With  self  indulgence  wing'd  the  fleeting  hourtf, 
*V\l\  the  foe  found  them,  and  down  fell  their  toW*ri 

I  ong  time  Assjrria  bound  them  in  her  chain, 
Till  penitence  had  purg'd  the  publickst^in. 
And  Cyrus,  with  relenting  pity  mov'd,  15 

Return'd  them  happy  to  the  land  they  lov'd ; 
There,  proof  against  prosperity,  a  while 
They  stood  th6  test  of  her  ensnaring  smil^. 
And  had  the  grace  hi  scenes  of  peace  to  sfaoW 
The  vlTtues  they  had  learA'd  in  scenes  of  wo.  M 

But  man  is  frail,  and  can  but  ill  sustain 
A  lon^  immunity  fi-om  grief  and  pain ; 
And  after  all  the  joys  that  Plenty  leads, 
With  tiptoe  step,Vice  silently  succeeds. 

When  he  that  ruVd  them  with  a  shepherd*i  rod      66 
In  form  a  man,  in  dignity  a  God, 
Came,  not  expected  in  that  humble  guise, 
To  sift  and  search  them  with  unerring  eye* ; 
He  found  oonceai'd  beneath  a  fair  outside. 
The  filth  of  rottenness,  and  worm  of  pride  ;  A 

Their  piety  a  system  of  deceit. 
Scripture  employ 'd  to  sanctify  the  cheat ; 
The  pharisee  the  dup6  of  his  own  art. 
Self  idofiz*d,  and  vet  a  knare  at  heart. 

When  nations  are  to  perish  in  their  nns,  95 

Tis  in  the  church  the  leprosy  begins ; 
The  priest,  whose  office  b  with  zeal  sincere 
To  watch  the  foimtain  and  preserve  it  clear, 
Carelessly  nods  and  sleeps  upcn  the  brink, 
vVhile  ot\»ers  poison  what  the  flock  mu)H  drink  ;      100 


m  EXPOSTULATION. 

Or,  waking  at  the  call  of  lust  alono, 

Infuses  lies  and  errours  of  his  omi ; 

His  iinsospecting  sheep  believe  it  pure ; 

And,  tainted  by  the  very  means  of>ure, 

Catph  from  each  other  a  contagious  spot,  ICi 

The  foul  forerunner  of  a  gen'ral  rot. 

Then  '^ruih  it  hush'd,  tliat  Heresy  may  pretcb; 

And  all  is  trash,  that  Reaw)n  cannot  reach : 

Then  (rod's  own  image  on  the  soul  impressed 

Becomes  a  mock'ry,  and  a  standing  jest ;  110 

And  Faith,  the  root  whence  only  can  arise 

The  graces  of  a  life  that  wins  the  skies, 

Loses  at  once 'all  value  and  esteem, 

Pronounc'd  by  graybeards  a  pernicious  dream : 

Then  Ceremony  leads  her  bigots  forth,  lit 

Prepared  to  fight  for  shadows  of  no  worth  ; 

While  truths,  on  which  eternal  things  depend, 

l^ind  not,  or  hardly  find,  a  single  friend ; 

As  soldiers  watch  the  signal  of  command. 

They  learn  to  bow,  to  kneel,  to  sit,  to  stand  ;       -    12* 

Happy  to  fill  Religion*s  vacant  place 

With  hollow  form,  and  gesture,  and  grimace. 

Such,  when  the  Teacher  of  his  church  was  there, 
People  and  priest,  the  sons  of  Isradl  were ; 
Stiff  in  the  letter,  lax  in  the  design  VS^ 

And  import,  of  their  oracles  divine  *, 
Theur  learning  legendary,  false,  absurd. 
And  yet  exalted  above  God's  own  word ; 
They  drew  a  curse  from  an  intended  good, 
PufTd  up  with  gifls  they  never  understood.  130 

He  judg'd  them  with  as  terrible  a  frown. 
As  if  not  love,  but  wrath,  had  brought  him  down 
Yet  he  was  gentle  as  soft  summer  airs. 
Had  grace  for  others*  sins,  but  none  for  theirs ; 
Through  all  he  spoke  a  noble  plainness  ran —  135 

Rhet'rick  is  artifice,  the  work  of  man ; 
And  tricks  and  turns,  that  fancy  may  devise. 
Axe  far  too  mean  for  him  that  rules  the  ekies. 


EXPOSTULATION.  69 

TV  astonk^'d  rulgar  trembled  while  he  tore 
The  mask  from  faces  never  seen  before  :  140 

He  stripped  the  impo&tors  in  the  noonday  amiy 
Show'd  that  they  followed  all  they  seem'd  to  tUmm 
Their  prayers  made  publick|  their  excesses  kept 
As  private  as  the  chambers  whore  tliey  alept  *  ^ 
Tho  temple  and  its  holy  rites  profao'd  145 

By  miimm*ries  he  that  dwelt  in  it  disdained ; 
UplHlod  hands,  that  at  convenient  times 
Coufd  act  extortion  and  the  worst  of  crime  f, 
Wasfa'd  with  a  neatness  scrupulously  nice,  "-• 

And  free  from  6v*ry  taint  but  that  of  rice.  tSb 

Judgment,  however  tardy,  mends  her  paoA 
When  Obstinacy  once  has  conquered  Grace. 
They  saw  distemper  heaPd,  and  life  restor'd. 
In  answer  to  the  fiat  of  his  word ; 
Confessed  the  wonder,  and  with  daring  tongue         I6( 
Blasphem'd  th*  authority  from  which  it  sprang. 
They  knew  by  sure  prognosticks  seen  on  higl^ 
The  future  tone  and  temper  of  the  sky ; 
But,  grave  dissemblers,  could  not  understand, 
That  Sin  let  loose  speaks  Punishment  at  hand.         IGO 

Ask  now  of  history's  authentick  page. 
And  call  up  evidence  from  every  ago ; 
Display  with  busy  and  laborious  hahd 
The  blessings  of  the  most  indebted  land ; 
What  nation  will  you  find,  wh6se  annals  prove        165 
So  rich  an  interest  in  almighty  love  ? 
Where  dwell  they  now,  where  dwelt  in  aneient  dajf 
A  people  planted,  watcr'd,  blessed  as  they  ? 
Let  Egypt*^  plagues  and  Canaan's  woes  pioelaim 
The  &vours  pour'd  upon  the  Jewiiih  name ;  J  70 

Their  freedom  purchased  for  them  at  ^e  cost 
Of  all  their  hard  oppressors  valued  most ; 
Their  title  to  a  country  not  their  own, 
Made  sure  by  prodigies  till  then  unknown  ;  174 

For  them,  the  states  thoy  left  made  wdste  and  void ; 
For  them,  the  states  to  which  they  went  destroy*d«' 


] 


70  EXPOSTULATION. 

A  cloud  to  me&sure  out  their  march  by  day, 

By  night  a  fire  to  cheer  the  gloomy  way  : 

That  moving  signal  summoning,  when  best 

Their  host  to  move,  and  when  it  stay'd,  to  rest.       180 

For  them  the  rockp  dissolvM  into  a  flood, 

The  dews  condensed  into  angelick  food, 

Their  very  garments  sacred — old,  yet  new, 

And  Time  forbid  to  touch  them  as  he  flow ; 

Streams,  swelled  above  the  bank,  enjoined  to  stand,  195 

While  they  pass'd  through  to  their  appointed  laad ; 

Their  leader  arm*d  with  meekness,  zeal,  and  love. 

And  graced  with  clear  credentials  from  above  r 

Themselves  secured  beneath  the  Almighty  wing  ; 

Their  God  their  captain,*  lawgiver,  and  king ;         190 

Crown*d  with  a  thousand  victories,  and  at  last 

Lords  of  the  conquered  soil,  tliere  roote^  fast, 

In  peace  possessing  what  they  won  by  war, 

Their  name  far  published,  and  rever'd  as  far : 

Where  will  you  find  a  race  like  theirs,  endowed     •  195 

With  all  that  man  e'er  wish'd,  or  Heav'n  bestow*d  ? 

They,  and  they  only,  amongst  all  mankind 
Receiv'd  the  transcript  of  the  eternal  mind  ; 
Were-trftsted  with  his  own  engraven  laws, 
And  constituted  guardians  of  his  cause ;  200 

Theirs  were  the  prophets,  theirs  the  priestly  call, 
And  theirs,  by  birth,  the  Saviour  of  us  all. 
In  vain  the  nations  that  had  seen  them  rise 
With  fierce  and  envious,  yet  admiring  eyes. 
Had  sought  to  crush  Ihem,  guarded  as  they  were    #i05 
By  pow*r  divine,  and  skill  that  could  not  err. 
Had  they  maintain'd  allegiance  firm  and  sure, 
And  kept  the  faith  immaculate  and  pure. 
Then  the  proud  eagles  of  all-conquering  Rome 
Had  found  one  city  not  to  be  o'ercome ;  210 

And  the  twelve  standards  of  the  tribes  imfurr<d^ 
Had  bid  defiance  to  the  waiving  world. 

*  Vide  Joshua,  v.  14. 


EXPOSTULATION.  71 

B^Jt  grace  abua'd  brings  forth  tho  foulest  deeds. 
As  richest  soil  the  most  luxuriant  weeds. 
Cur*d  of  the  golden  calves,  their  fathers'  nn,  815 

They  set  up  self,  that  idol  god,  within ; 
Viewed  a  delirerer  with  disdain  and%ate, 
Who  left  them  still  a  tributary  state ; 
Seized  fast  his  hand,  held  out  to  set  tliem  free 
From  a  worse  yoke,  and  naiVd  it  to  the  tree  :  220 

There  was  the  consummation  and  the  crown. 
The  flow'r  of  Israel's  infamy  full  blown  ; 
Thence  date  their  sad  declension  and  their  full, 
Their  wbes  not  yet  repeal'd,  thence  date  thorn  all. 

Thus  fell  the  t>08t  instructed  in  her  day,  225 

And  the  most  favoured  land,  look  where  we  may. 
Philosophy,  indeed,  on  Grecian,  eyes 
Had  pourM  the  day,  and  clear'd  the  Roman  skies ; 
In  other  climes  perhaps  crcativo  Art, 
With  pow'r  surpassing  theirs,  performed  her  part ;  230 
Might  give  more  life  to  marble,  or  might  ^ 
The  glowing  tablets  with  a  juster  skill ; 
Might  shme  in  fable,  and  grace  idle  themes 
With  all  the  embroid'ry  of  poetick  dreams ; 
Twas  theirs  alone  to  dive  into  the  plan,  235 

That  Truth  and  Mercy  had  rcveal'd  to  man  ; 
And,  while  the  world  beside,  that  plan  unknown, 
Deified  useless  wood  or  senseless  stone, 
They  breath'd  in  faith  their  well-directed  pray*rs. 
And  thie  true  God,  tho  'God  of  truth,  was  theirs.    ^0 

Their  glory  fMcd,  and  their  race  dispersed, 
The  last  of  nations  now,  though  once  tho  first ; 
They  warn  and  tcacli  the  proudest,  would  they  learn 
Keep  wisdom,  or  meet  vengeance  in  your  turn  • 
If  we  escap'd  not,  if  Heav'n  spaj'd  not  us,  24.5 

Peel'd,  scatter'd,  and  exterminated  thus ! 
If  Vice  recoiv'd  her  retribution  duo, 
When  we  were  visited,  what  hope  for  you  ? 
When  God  arises  with  an  awful  frown 
To  punish  lust,  or  pluck  presumption  down ;  250 


I 


7^  EXPOSTULATION. 

Wli«i  gif^  pfirTert9(l|  or  not  duly  pm'dy 

Pleasure  o*ervalued,  and  his  grace  despis'd, 

Pl«;roke  the  vengeance  of  his  rijrhteous  hanfl ; 

To  pour  down  wrath  upon  a  thankless  land ; 

He  will  be  found  im||artially  severe,  231 

Too  just  to  wink,  or  speak  the  guilty  cleat 

Oh  Israeli  of  all  nations  most  undone ! 
Thy  diadem  displaced,  thy  sceptre  go^e : 
Thy  temple,  once  thy  glory,  falFn  and  raz*d| 
And  thou  a  worshipper  e'en  where  thou  m«y*st ;      2G0  • 
The  services,  once  only  without  spot. 
Mere  shadows  now,  their  ancient  pomp  forgot } 
Tky  Levites,  once  a  consecrated  host,  -» 
No  longer  Levites,  and  their  lineage  lost, 
Arid  th*yz  thyself  o*er  ev*ry  country  sown,  26& 

With  none  en  earth  that  Uiou  canst  call  thine  own ; 
Cry  aloud,  thou,  that  sittest  in  the  dust,  . 
Cty  to  the  proud,  the  cruel,  and  unjust ; 
Knock  at  the  gates  of  nations,  rouse  their  fears  ; 
Say  wrath  is  coming,  and  the  storm  appearS|»  270- 

But  raise  the  slirillest  cry  in  British  ears. 

"What  ails  thee,  restless  as  the  waves  that  roaj:^ 
And  fling  their  ibam  ag^^nst  thy  chalky  s|ipro.^    . 
Mistress,  at  least  while  Frovide^^co  sliall  pleasf 
And  trident-bearing  queen  of  tlio  wide  sea^t-r  27^ 

Why,  having  kept  good  faith,  and  often  sliowil. 
Friendship  and  truth  to  others,  iind'st  tliou.npiJ^.^ 
Thou  that  liast  set  the  persecuted  free, 
None  interposes  now  to  succour  thee. 
Countries  indebted  to  thy  pow'r,  that  shine  280 . 

With  light  dcriv'd  from  thee,  would  sm?tlicr  tliinc  ; 
Thy  very  children  watch  for  thy  disgrace — 
A  lawless  brood,  and  curse  thee  to  thy  face.    . 
Thy  rulers  load  thy  credit  year  by  year. 
With  sums  Peruvian  mines  could  never  clear ;         285 
As  if,  like  arches  built  with  skilful  hand, 
k  The  more  'twere  press'd  the  firmer  it  would  stand. 


EJTJ'OSTUr.ATIOM.  71 

The  erj  in  all  thy  ships  is  ^iU  the  same. 
Speed  us  away  to  battle  and  tu  fame. 
Thy  mariners  explore  the  wild  expante,  890 

Impatient  t»  dMcry  the  fla^  of  fVmce : 
Bht  though  fliey  fight  aff  thine  faavs  ever  fixq^ 
Return  asham'd  without  the  wreaths  they  eoti^ht 
Thy  senate  is  a  scene  of  chriljar, 
Chaos  of  contrarieties  at  war  ;  fM' 

Wheiie  sharp  and  so6d,pfalegm«tidk'and  fight^ 
Diseordant  atoniB  meet^  ferment,  and  fight*, 
Where  Obstinacy  takes  his  sturdy  standi 
To  disconeert  what  Foliey  has  pkumM ; 
Where  Policy  isl>asied  all  night  long  S(MI 

In  setting  right  what  Faction  haa  set  wrong ; 
Where  flails  of  oratory  thresh  the  floor. 
That  yields  tbem  chaff  and  dust,  and  nothing  mom. 
Thy  rack'd  inhabitants  repine,  complaiiiy 
Tax'd  till  the  brow  of  Labour  sweats  in  faht ;  30t 

War  lays  a  burden  on  the  reeling  state. 
And' peace  does  nothing  to  teHevn  the  weight » 
Successive  loads  snceeeding  hvcSUn  ihipoae, 
And  sighing  milHons  prophesy  theckee. 

Is  adverse  Previdenoe,  <iHien  pdnder'd  iVeQi  31^ 

So  dimly  writ,  or  difiitult  to  speU, 
Tbau  canit  not  read  with  readiness  and  €Rwe 
Providence  adverse  in  eventii  like  these  ? 
Know,  then,  that  heavenly  wisdom  on  this  b^ 
Creates,  gives  biith  to,  guidos,  consummatet  all ;    SUB ', 
That  whUe  labortooa  and  quick-thou^ted  maa, 
S Aufis  up  the  praise  of  wfauat  he  eeeras  to  plan, 
He  first  ceneeives,  Uten  perfectfi  his  design. 
As  a  mere  instrument  in  hands  divino  : 
Blind  to  thiB  working  of  that  soqret  pow>,  390. 

That  balances  the  wings  of  ev'ry  hour, 
niebusy  trtfler  dreams  himself  alooe, 
Frames  many  a  purpose,  and  God  works  his  own. 
States  thrive  or  wither  a9  moqn»  wax  and  wanOi 
E*en  as  his  will  and  his  decrees  ordain  ;  225 

Vol.  I.  7 


^1:3= 


1 


I 


74  EXPOSTULATfOlf. 

While  honcnir,  rirtae,  P^Jty,  bear  iway, 

Tliey  flourish ;  and  as  these  decline,  deotjr  x 

In  jast  resentment  of  his  iirpir*d  iaws, 

He  pours  contempt  on  them,  and  on  their  cause ; 

Strikes  ttie  rough  thread  of  erronr  right  adi^n^aft     9d0 

The  web  of  ev'ry  scheme  they  hare  at  heait ; 

Bids  rottenness  invade  and  bring  to  dust 

The  pillars  of  support,  in  which  they  trust| 

And  do  his  errand  of  disgrace  and  ^aino 

On  the  chief  strength  and  glory  of  the  frame.  335 

None  ever  yet  impeded  what  he  wrought, 

None  bars  him  out  from  his  most  secret  thoaghel ; 

Darkness  itself  before  his  eye  is  light, 

And  Heirs  close  mischief  naked  in  Iiis  sight. 

Stand  now  and  judge  thyself-^Ha^  thou  ineiirr'd 
His  anger,  who  can  waste  thee  with  a  word ;  341 

Who  poises  and  proportions  sea  and  land. 
Weighing  them  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand  : 
And  in  whose,  awftil  sight  idl  nations  seetn 
As  grasshoppers,  as  dust)  a  drop,  a  dream  ^  3tf 

Hast  thou,  (a  sacrilege  his  soul  aMioni,) 
Claimed  all  the  glory  of  thy  prosperois  wars  ? 
Proud  of  thy  fleets  and  armies,  stol^  the  gem 
Of  his  just  praise,  to  lavish  it  on  them  ? 
Hast  thou  not  leam'd,  what  thou  art  often  toM,       959 
A  truth  still  sacred,  and  believ'd  of  old. 
That  no  success  depends  on  sffears  and  swdrdt    ' 
Idlest,  and  that  the  battle  is  the  Lord's? 
That  courage  is  his  creature,  and  dismay 
Tlie  post  that  at  his  bidding  speeds  away,  356 

Ghastly  in  feature,  and  his  stammering  tongue 
With  doleful  Tumour  and  sad  presage  hung, 
To  quell  the  valour  of  the  stoutfest  heart, 
And  teach  the  combatant  a  woman's  part  ^ 
That  he  bids  thousands  fly  where  none  pursue^        360 
Saves  as  he  will  by  many  or  by  few; 
And  claims  for  ever  as  his  roy«d  rigM, 
Th'  event  and  sure  decision  of  the  fio-ht  ? 


Hast  thoa,  tho*  mckled  at  fiur  Fno4oai'«  lnMl» 
Ejrported  Slav^cy  to  Um  c<m<|uered  East  ?  SOS 

Pnll'ddewB  the  tjsaacta  India  aerv'd  wjyth  draad» 
And  raift'd  tbyaelf,  a  gcaaief  m  their  stead  ? 
Bene  (hkher  arm'd  and  hungry » retum'd  iiUl» 
Fed  from  the  richest  veins  of  the  Mogul, 
A  despot  big  wilh  pow'r  ohtain^d  by  wealtht  80 

And  that  obtam*d  hy  fa^^ine  and  by  stealth  i 
With  Astatick  vices  stor'd  tl^  niai«cl> 
Bat  left  their  virtnes  and  thine  ovn  behind  ? 
And  having  track'd  thy  soul^  bnonght  bone  the  ibef 
To  tempi  the  poor  to  sell  hioMelf  to  thee  f  3^ 

Hast  thou  by  statute  dioe'd  from  its  design 
The  Saviour's  feast,  his  own  bless*d  bread  and  whrnp 
And  made  the  symbc^  of  atoning  graee 
An  olfiee-keyy  a  picklock  to  a  place. 
That  infidete  may  prove  their  title  good  181 

By  an  oath  dipp'd  in  sacramental  blood  f 
A  blot,  that  ivillbestiU  a  Uot,  in  spite 
Of  all  that  gr%ve  apologisls  may  write  ^ 
And  though  a  bisliop  toil  to  cleanse  tiis  staan^ 
He  wipes  and  scours  the  feilver  cup  in  vain.  98S 

And  hast  thou  sworn  on  ev'ry  riight  pretence) 
Till  perjuries  are  common  as  bad  pence, 
While  thousands,  careless  of  the  damning  sin. 
Kiss  the  book's  outside,  who  ne'er  look'd  within? 

Hast  thou,  when  Heav'n  has  doth'd  thee  witkdb* 
gf«ee«    ^  900 

And  long  pro«ok*4,  repaid  thee  to  thy  froe* 
(Fbr  thou  hast  known  eclipses^  and  endur'd. 
Dimness  and  anguish,-  aH  thy  beams  4ibscur'dy 
When  sin  has  shed  dishonour  on  thy  brow ; 
And  never  of  asabler  hue  than  now,)  90 

Hast  tnou  vrith  heart  perverse  and  consoienoaeear^ 
-  Gkwpising  aU  rebuke,  still  persever'd, 
And  having  chosen  evil,  soorn'd  the  voice 
That  cried,  Repent  l^-snd  gloried  in  thy  ehoien  ' 


*   76               BoommA'mm. 

Tli|F  tedngvy  wben  cakmitjAi  bil  . 

400 

SuggesU  til' •apedMafc  <tf  a  yeMBijr  iM, 

Whatkoeanl^?  C3nirtthaii4imuatfaM4sJ4pJM^             j| 

In  lighter  diet  at  a  kitot  bow, 

To  chana  to  ilee]^  the  tbraii*tiM«  cf.tlMkiUM^ 

And  hide  pa«tloUy  fimn  alkMetng  JtlTM  2 . . 

J06 

The  fast  thu  wiot  dt&fmmtm,  mwi  .wsupmJM 

Is  to  ronoimee  hyfttoosy  ;  to.di«w 

Thy  life  upon  tlM9«ttaen<QflllwlMCi.    . 

•     i 

AID 

!Co  Tanquish  4«<t»  md  mbas  it«<y«fcoiiQ  nttntb 

AH  fastiBf  •!»,  vhale^cor  W  the  pietoaoei 

Hast  thou  withutliee  sbi,  ihA'm  tM  limtf 

Brought  fire  from  Heav'tt,.!^  MZ-ab^i^  tmm^ 

4^ 

Whose  horrid  perpetrMien  •tampe  diagraoey 

fiaboonsare  £rM£roa^«fmihananrao»? 

Thmk  on  the  frottfvl  and  wtett^MterVl  fpot 

That  fed  the  flod»iBnd.J)enbofiMailhjL(^ 

Where  BandiM  seftmUstSl  vtrnf^tml'd  en  eai^ 

420 

Btiming  and  aaoioh'd  into  p#Kpetiwl  deanh  ; 

Su^Tring  the  veiigeaiioe  of  eiienial  fire  ^ 

Then  Nature  ii^*d,  soaDdaUs^d,  defil'd. 

BehrtA^wilh  jogr  tlM  lo^y  sma  d«&A*4» 

And  praisd  the  wrath  that laidJier  faaauUes  waste. 

Far  be  tbfr  l^mi^imfit  at^  ▼eiae  of  niiii% 

And  farther  stm  the  fiirm'd  and  iuM  d^it(A, ' 

To  thrust  tba  ckarga  of  deeds,  thHt  I  detest. 

430     . 

Against  an  iattodentmBonscKMis  breast; 

"^Km  man  that  daoree  tradhioe,  hecanae  ha  ca* 

Widi  aO^r  «o  himse^  is  jiot  a  maa  : 

An  individual  is  a  saered  niaik 

Not  to  be  piero'd  in  play,  or  in  tfco  dark. ; 

435 

But  puUiok  consote  wpaiJn  a.puUiek  ib% 

Unless  a  seal  for  virtue  }fuide  the  blow. 

#■""  A  V'-'V 


EXfOSTULATiOff .  77 

Tho  priwtljr  Wutkuihiud,  iof  ont^  ikwiwn^ 
From  JMBtti  MlfMt*r«ai  ttii  ■nAirion  elMur, 
Their  inpe  in  Hes»*Byeirvllil3^«li«irMMn,  410 

Prompt  to  pernnde,  expwilulrto,  and  wwr, 
l%eir  wiiiim  yUTB)  omI  ^m  tiMm  liMm  Mhw^ 
Tboir  nwfirinim  aitfn^d  byfleal  mad  loWi 
As  meek  «•  tfae  msn  JioMiy  audi  wHM* 
A«  bold  M,  mAyqipa'g  preienoe,  P>ni»  -40 

Should  fljr  the  werid'i  fft«tnnimH«g  tCMKh, 
Koly  and  anpoHotvd  ;-*«r6  thhie  Meh  f 
IUQepiaftwwlthStt%i|Nrielile«^     '' 
Hophni  atfcMQuwa*  maj  deaoiibt  Hm  raat 

Where  dmMm  teaafamr  kMM>da^  lik*  Hiawi     499 
For  ears  and  hearts  thsl  he  «tti  hefM  to  plsaw  f 
Look  to  Hm  poor^-'the  simple  wmi  the  plain 
Wm  Immv  psfhaps  thy  sahrtary  strain; 
Humility  is  gentie,  apt  tvlesroy 
Speak  but  the  word,  will  listen  and  retam,  4K 

Alas,  not  so  i-««he  peeiait  of  tlie  floek 
Are  proud,  alid eat  tfaehr  ftneans  a. sock  ; 
Denied  tfant  «aitfaly  apnfenee  tiny  eheoaa, 
God's  better  g^  thsy  scoff  a>  and  rsftwa. 
Tho  rich,  the  preduee  of  a  nobler  stem,  461 

Are  more  intellie«nt  at  least-— «ry  timn* 
Oh,  Tain  inquiry !  they,  withaot  remerssi  « 
Ale  alt^sthar  gone  a  <is<rk>ns<wiiaa ; 
Where  beck'ning  Pleasnin  leadntiieBi,  wiklly  itngrt 
Hare  burst  th«  bands,  and  cast  the  yoke  nurmy*       465 

Now  borne  upon  the  wbignof  imtksnbliHie^ 
Review  thy  <hm  criginai  and  pieinB. 
Tliis  ishtnd,  spot  of  unteckim'd  rude  earthy 
The  cradle  that  rceei^U  thee  at  thy  bhrth^ 
Was  rock*d  by  oHuiyn  rough  ISorwagian  blasts       430 
And  Danish  howraigs.sear*d  thee  as  they  paasV; 
For  thou  wast  bom  amid  the  dm  of  arms, 
And  su<;k'd  a  breast  that  panted  with  abrms. 
While  yet  thou  wast  a  gnyr'hng  puling  chit,      * 
Thy  bones  not  fiuhion'd,  and  thy  jeinUniatknit^     49i 
7* 


1 

I 


.78  .i£ifr»arrauii!ioi«. 

The  lUmvttteaght  ihf  «ki:|bbt0r»  lOM*  to  Wir^ 
'Thonifb  twiooa  CaMur  ooiM  aat  b«ii  lin»«M»i 
His  victory  «w  of  thftt  orimi  tigbly 
When  theMiVAaft*  Sipmm  tlM  g^eoB^ai^ 
Thy  Ungtrng^-^  tkmSi^ 
How  much  the  oonmMy  to  the  i 
Expressive,  entgetiek,  and  refin'd^ 
Jc-sparkleewiththeyheleahihirirti 
He  brougrbl  thy  hud  ft  Meewng  wfaMi  he  ttuoft  ; 
He  found  thee  saivi^^  and  he  left  the»  tave  ;         496 
Taa£rhttheetoclotlMthypiak*dndpaiBiedlud%  •  * 
And  grace ihy  figttra  milh h  wMJm'm^pMtkj       •      •  • 
Ob  sQW^d  the  eeeda  border  wheM  he  vmmk^ 
Improved  thee  fiur.  beyond  hie  eiMi  i>tiif,.». 
And,  while  he  ndUlheohy  the  ewordaleMi.  4» 

Made  thee  at  laal «  warnenr  i&e  hie  ovtt. 
Religion,  if  in  heavenly  trathe  8ttir*d»  . .  > 

Hheds  only  .to  be  eesA  to  be  admiT'd*; 
Bat  thine,  as  daj4(  aa  witoh^nea  of  the  Bights 
Was  formed  to  faawlimhearttamlriK>ok.tfae.ai|^;.4a5 
Thy  DmidsatnMk  the  wril-haiWhirpethi^  hose     -. 
With  fingers  dee{dy  4^  in  homaft  f(0M ; 
And  whUe  the  i^othn  skrwfy  Ided  to  daatht 
Upon  the  rolling  diorcb-rnnf  €miMm4(fmg,  bteath. 
•  Who  bronght  the  kmp,  that  fwilh  awiOom^  heeasA 
Dispelled  thy  gloomy  end  bsek*  away  ihy4l«eiBli^    6$\ 
Tniditien,  now  deere^  aaidwiani  oiii9 
.BAbbler  nf  anei«Bt  fiOilea,  Mtw  a  denbi 
But  still  light feaeh'd  thee (  and  these  godaof  thini» 
Woden  and  Thor,  each  totterit^  in  hia.shriniB,        SOB 
Fell,  broken  and  defiie*d  at  hia  own  doosii 
As  Dagon  in  Philistia  kmg  be6le. 
Bftt  Roma  with  sorceries  and  majpek.wand 
Soon  riis'd  a  efamd^  that  darkened  av'ry  kuiA; 
And  thine  was  smether'd  in  the  stench  and  &f  • .     610 
Of  Tiber^eonarshes  and  the  papal  bog/ 
Then  prieat%with  ball8>  and  brtefay-and  shaven  ceewn^ 
^^  &^9*^  ^^  *^  anrelenttng  frowns^ 


r 


EXPOSTUtATION.  W 

L^Kitt68  ino  w6i6^sftM'%ft^pow*n  IrtMII  nfluy 
xhoii|^  iiMVBiirf  ki  pubCMUiotiy  ilMC  a  iiMM  wfifl  y  519 
^nd  to  thl» hmir, <l6l)e«^it  frMh inmhi^ 
l^nno  twi^  nl'tiut  xM  veoorfe  Are  left  Mhind.* 
Thy  soldierly  tho  pApeli  treU*MttiMg*ft  T**^) 
Werd  ^AlMra  oMMtatn  qiS'icuri,  sita  khow  tlM  ntecky 
And  when  he  tud  theM  «(i  HVe  ibtHiA  of  llo6d,         flSfl 
Wonld  hunt «  Saraeeti  UttOugti  ftr^  ttnd'flodd. 
LiETi8l>«jrBftf  to  %f]k  an  tffiij^  tM^, 
That  proy'd  a  ntittt  ofMim,  k  ihine  tii^llbijto, 
x  bey  Jen  vpm^  MUeii  Dentoatn  fejrahMidfj  ndesy 
His  worthleas  ai«M»iitioii  idlibe  jyrixe.  0S5 

Thou  wa8»  «f»  tdHMIiAii^  iH  dayrof  ytun, 
That  ever  dre^'d-a  clildik  o^  tugf^M  m  oar ; 
Thy  monareha  AMlitry,  fiMrce^  unjust^ 
ThemaelveatiW  ilWr<»  dfBigp0try  or  liM, 
I#iMUIn*d  thy  comMwy  ^iolrf  in  cHitreai  990 

Found  thee  a  goodly  tdmnge  fhf  Power  t»  pi^an. 
Tlgr  chief8,<th«  iMtla  «f  Mftnif  a  p«tiy  ft^,     ' 
IVoircAVi  ancFifaHMYr^fttT^ttai^  ]AagtiM  m^; 
Called  thee^^ay  fiotti  f^abMMe  employ, 
Domestiek  hapf>M«  aiid  ti^ml  jay,  0tt 

To  waste  thy  Hfl»  hi  MA,  6r  lay  it  down 
HI  ^ausntti§  foftdfc  *tero  toctti  jlft  OTuWiro^prB* 
Thy  pariiamentaarfdiia^  h^xfcfc^  SbMi* 
The  aoT'reignty  they  tM)<fe  doiitviiVI  tb  jiMk^ ; 
Whatever  iraa  ai4t*d,i»c^thAlft't^miftt,  ^iHb 

•  v>oinpiHNi  wiHiy  ma  weie  giw^iuuny  cusiiiiasTi , 
Amb  if  some  Spaftaii  iovtf  tf  doUbt  i^t'jffrftiM^y 
And  blushing  at  th)y  taiUMMMMl  kitihb  fM, 
I>ar*d  to  suppoM  the  vuftifeel  hSd  a  6HM^^ 
He  was  a  traitor  ^^log«MNfl1'«tee.  ttl5 

O  alave !  with  powito^ttm  dMat  ftdt  d^i^^stert, 
V«Me  cannot  8toopMto«ratf%hyd^lteh; 
U  shalaw  the  sides  of  splenetick'  Disdithft, 
Thou  solf-ontitled  rvitsf  ^thd  Mlfin, 
To  trace  th«te  t<J  tlie  diAe  wKcn  yflta  f^tif  iida,  BW 

That  clips  thy  c^ioref,  hsd  ttoMch  charms  ft^  ^&j 
•  Which  may  be  found  at  doctors'  CommcHHi. 


I 

I 


89  SXPOSTUIhAXIO^ 

When  oUmt  nafJpM  flew  from  eoait  to  Qm$^  i 

And  Ukhi  .hadfit  oeiiUier  floet  iior  fl<^  to  hn^gj 

Kneel  now,  and  lay  thy  forohead  jm  tb«  dust} 
Blush  if  thou  canat ;  not  petriiied»  thou  Qwat;        ^Sft 
Act  but  an  honest  and  a  faithful  part ;  .  .     * 

Comiiare  what  thon  thou  wast  with  wh«t  thM|4iii^    ' 
And  God's  disposing  provideneo  coiif«m*df, ,  . 
Obduracy  Usolf  must  yield  the  rest- 
Then  thou  art  bou«d  to  serve  him,  and  to  fio^     $60 
Hour  after  hour,  thy  gratitude  and  love. 

Has  he  not  hid  thee*  and  thy  favoured  land* 
ITor  ages  safe  beneath  his  sheit'ring  hand : 
Giv*n  thee  his  blessing  on  the  dearest  propf, 
Bid  nations  leagued  against  thee  stand  9iaU,  ■  $6$ 

And  charged  Hostility  and  Hate  to  roac^    . 
Where  else  they  would,  but  not  upon  ^- shore  ?  . 
His  power  secur'd  thee  when  premimptuous  S|iaia 
BaptizU  her  floet  invipcible  in  vain ; 
Her  gloomy  monarch,  doubtful  and  resigned  &f% 

To  ev'ry  pang  that  racks  aa  anxious  mind, 
Ask'd  of  the  waves  that  broke  upon  Ins  coast, 
What  tidings  ?  and  the  snrgia  replied — AH  lost ! 
And  when  the  Stuart,  leaning  on  the  Soot, 
Then  too  much  fear'd  and  now  too  much  forgat»      KS 
Pierc*d  to  the  very  centre  of  the  realm. 
And  hop^d  to  seize  his  abdicated,  hehn,        .      • 
Twas  but  to  prove  how  qidckly  with  a  irovm» 
He  that  had  rais'd  thee  couMliave  pluok*4  then  dowm 
Peculiar  is  thegraco  by  thee  posseas'dy  ttl 

Thy  foes  implacable^  ithy  land  at  rest ; 
Thy  thunders  travel  over  earth  and  «eae, 
And  all  at  home  is.  pleasure,  wealth,  and  eone. 
Tis  thus,  extending  bis  tenpestueas'nrvi. 
Thy  Maker  Alls  the  nations  with  alarai^  481 

While  his  own  Heav*n  surveys  Ute  troubled  i 
And  feels  no  chan^^e,  unshaken  and  serene. 
Freedom,  in  other  lands  M&rce  knciwn  to  shtne. 
Pours  out  a  flood  of  splendour  upon  thine  ; 


J. 


siasi 


Thou  hast  «ifti%7ktiaihit'fi^  hi  liM^myt,  5d0 

An  b/rw  Riimaii  htUtin  Rotto^n  belrt  dkys. 

True  fiwioift  i»  wh^m  Ho  ivilBCribftls  kfafll^, 

Tliat  Scripfcn^,  judtice,  and  good  fw&to  iSbo^Mrn ; 

Where  only  vice  and  in]tity  Kre  tted, 

And  all  fron-ihdre  to  shore  ii  fiveltettide.  9B6 

'Bilch  freedom  faM^aitd  Wte<£Mf  *s  hodury  Ml#^ 

Stood  iren£Mhi{r«t1iieholihi«iBfe  dfthf  ptfcr^ri^ 

That  wobmi^rmphon  Aat  failMbrftit  IHldh, 

Like  her  the  fabled.  Fhobilv  wo6VI  m  vahi ; 

He  tbuiid  thb  isiMt  <mif -:'i4u^>t»ter  yvm,  090 

Th'  unfaduig  korel  md  the  viir^  to6  !* 

Now  thinks  {IXfAtMtatt  hftvto  atitou^fiiyi^iMy 
If  God  himaelf  be  not  beneath  he)r  care ; 
If  businessy  constant  an  the  wheeltr  of  Ume, 
Can  patide  an*  hoiir  to  i^ad  fei  seriocte  ^rhytne  ;  60^ 

ifUie  new  mail  iitjr  merciuUitB  ntttr  i^ecelTe, 
Or  expectation  of  the  noxt'giv^  IcaVe,) 
O  think,  if  ohargMbfo  wkh  dee|>  arrears 
For  •such  indulgenee  gilding  oK  thy  years, 
How  much,  though  long  negleoted,  shmm^  yet,      610 
The  beams  of  heavenly  truth  hUVe  swellM  the  debt. 
When  persecuting  zeal  made  royal  S]H)ft 
Witli  tortur'd  innocence  in  Mary's  court, 
And  Bonner,  blitheas shei^ierd  at  a  ivake, 
Enjoyed  the  show,  and  ditno*d  sbdot  thb  litake ;        615 
Tte  sacred  be<dE,  R*  rOaa  imderiCood, 
Received  tlw  seal  ot  martyrdom  in  Mood. 
Thoee  holy  men,  so  Ml  oftrtH^  and  grieO) 
Seem  to  reflection  of  a  diflbrsnt  race  ; 
Meek,  inadest,  veaend>le,  iiHse,  i^nMr^  020 

la  such  a  oa«N  they  co«dd  not  diBure  to  iki»  ; 
They  coiUd  not^pfin^aio  earth  >iritii  Mch  a  plMb, 
Or  spare  a  life  toeahort  to  temhihe  ilUnl. 


•  Attttding  to ^  die  crant  of  Magna  Cbarta,  which  was  S9* 
torted  from  King  John  by  (he  barons  at  Runnymede,  ncai 
Windsor. 


m  EXPOSTULATION. 

From  them  to  thee  coriTey'd  along  the  tide. 

Their  etreaming  hearts  pour'd  freely,  when  they  died  s 

Those  truths,  which  neither  use  nor  years  Impair,  G26 

Invite  thee,  woo  thee,  to  the  bliss  they  share. 

What  dotage  will  not  vanity  maintain  ? 

What  web  too  .weak  to  catch  a  nuKlem  brain  ? 

The  molee  fud  bats  in  full  assembly  find  €30 

On  special  search,  the  keen-ey'd  eagle  blind. 

And  did  they  dream,  and  art  thou  wiser  bow  ? 

Prove  it — if  better,  I  submit  and  bow. 

Wisdom  and  goodness  are  twin-bom,  one  heait 

Must  hold  both  sisters,  neveyr  seen  apart.  63C 

So  then— «s  darkness  overspread  the  deepi 

Ere  Nature  rose  from  her  eternal  sleep, 

And  this  delightAil  earth,  and  that  fair  sky. 

Leaped  out  of  nothing,  called  by  the  Most  High ; 

By  such  a  change  thy  darkness  is  made  light,  640 

Thy  chaos  order,  and  thy  weakness  might ; 

And  He  whose  pow'r  mere  nullity  obeys, 

Who  found  thee  nothing,  form'd  thee  for  his  praisa. 

To  praise  him  is  to  serve  him,  and  fuUU, 

Doing  and  suflTring,  his  unquestioned  will }  C45 

*Tis  to  believe  what  n^en  inspired  of  old, 

Faithful,  and  faitlifully  informed,  unfold ; 

Candid  and  just,  with  no  fake  aim  in  view, 

To  take  for  truth  what  cannot  but  be  true  ; 

To  loam  in  God's  own  school  the  Christian  part,    &$ 

And  bind  the  task  assigned  thee  to  thine  heart :  - 

Happy  tlie  man  there  seeking  and  there  found, 

Happy  the  nation  where  such  men  -abound. 

How  shall  a  v«rse  unpress  tkoe  ?  by  what  nasM 
Shall  I  adjure  thee  not  to  court  thy  diam*  ?      *     €SS 
By  theirs,  whose  bright  example  unimpeach*d, 
Directs  thee  to  that  eminence  they  reach'd,  ^ 

Heroes  and  worthies  of  days  past,  thy  sires  ? 
Or  his,  who  touch'd  their  hearts  with  hallow'd  finp  ? 
Their  names,  alas !  in  vain  reproach  an  age,  C60 

Whom  all  the  vanities  they  scom'd  engage  ; 


r 


EXPOSTULATION.  89 

And  His,  that  seraph'tf  trembled  at,  is  huii|^ 
Disgracefully  on  ev^ry  trifler's  tongue, 
Or  serves  the  champion  in  forensick  war 
To  flourish  and  parade  with  at  the  bar.  065 

Pleasure  herself  perhaps  suggests  a  plea, 
If  interest  move  thee,  to  persuade  e*en  thee ; 
By  ev*ry  charm,  that  smiles  upon  hor  face, 
By  joys  possessed,  and  joys  still  held  in  chase^ 
If  dear  s6ciety  be  worth  a  thought,  GfO 

And  if  the  feast  of  freedom  clby  thee  not. 
Reflect  that  Vhese,  and  all  that  seem  thine  own, 
Held  by  the  tenure  of  his  will  alone, 
Like  angels  in  the  service  of  their  Lord, 
Remain  with  thee,  or  leave  thee  at  his  word ,  C75 

That  gratitude  and  temperance  in  our  use 
Of  what  he.  gives,  unsparing,  and  profuse 
Secure  the  favour,  and  enhance  the  joy. 
That  thankless  waste  &nd  wild  abuse  destroy. 
But,  above  all,  reflect,  how  cheap  soc*er  600 

Thoio  rights  that  millions  envy  thee  appear, 
And  though  resolv'd  to  risk  thorn,  and  swim  down 
The  tide  of  pleasure,  heedless  of  his  frown, 
That  blessings  truly  sacred,  and  when  giv*n, 
Mark*d  with  the  signature  and  stamp  of  Hear'n,    685 
The  word  of  prophecy,  those  tmths  divine, 
Which  make  that  Heav'n,  if  thou  desire  it,  thine. 
Awful  alterfMtive !  believ*d,  belor'd, 
(Tliy  glory,  and  thy  shame  if  unimproved,) 
Are  never  long  vonchsafd,  if  pulh*d  aside  COO 

With  cold  disgust,  or  philosophick  pride  ; 
And  that  judicially  withdrawn,  disgrace, 
E.-rour,  and  darkness,  occupy  their  place. 
A  world  is  np  in  artns,  and  thou,  a  spot 
Not  quickly  found  if  negligently  sought,  695 

Thy  soul  as  ample  as  thy  bounds  are  small, 
Endvr'tt  the  brunt,  end  dar'st  defy  them  aQ 
And  wilt  thou  join  to  this  bold  enterprise, 
A  bolder  still,  a  contest  with  the  skies  > 


84  EXPOaTULATXOW. 

Rememberi  if  He  gua^  tliee  and  secure,  700 

Whoe'er  assailti  thee,  thy  guccess  is  sure  ; 
But  if  He  leave  thee,  tiiongh  the  skill  and  powV 
Of  nations  sworn  to  spoil  thee  and  devour, 
Were  all  collected  in  thy  single  arm, 
And  thou  CQold'tft  hiugh  away  the  fear  of  hann^       705 
That  strength  would  fail,  oppos'd  against  the  push 
And  feeble  onset  of  a  pigmy  rush. 
Say  not,  (and  if  the  thought  of  such  defence 
Should  spring  within  thy  bosom,  drive  it  theoce^) 
What  nation  amongst  all  my  foes  is  free  710 

From  crimes  as  base  as  any  charged  on  in^? 
Their  measure  fill'd,  they  too  shall  pay  the  debt, 
Which  God,  though  long  forborne,  will  not  forget. 
But  know  tliat  wrath  divine,  when  most  severe^ 
Makes  justice  still  the  guide  of  his  career,  "3^ 

And  will  not  punish,  in  one  mingled  crowd,  ' 
Them  without  light,  iMiid  thee  without  a  cloud. 
Muse,  hang  this  Ikarp  upon  yon  aged  beech, 
Still  murm'ring  with  the  solemn  truths  I  teapt\  ^,. 
And  while  at  intervals  a  cold  blast  sings  720 

Through  the  dry  leaves  and  pants  upon  the  strings. 
My  soul  shall  sigh  in  secret,  and  lament 
A  nation  scourg'd,  yet  tardy  to  repent. 
I  know  the  warning  song  is  sung  in  vain ; 
That  few  will  hear,  and  fewer  heed  the  sti^aii^  j "      725 
But  if  a  sweeter  voice,  and  one  design 'd 
A  blessing  to  ray  country  and  mankind^ 
li^sdaim  the  wand 'ring  thousands,  and  bring  homo 
A  flock  so  scattered  and  so  wont  to  roam, 
Then  place  it  once  again  between  my  knees  ,  730 

The  soimd  of  truth  will  tJien  be  sure  to  pleasp : 
And  truth  alone,  where'er  my  life  be  cast. 
In  scenes  of  plenty,  or  the  pining  waste, 
Shall  be  my  chosen  theme^  my  glory  to  the  lasu 


HOPE. 


9  Iter,  et  sacra  ostea  pandas. 

VlKG.  Ik. «. 

ASK  what  18  human  liffr-^he  sage  ropUea^ 
With  disappointmont  low*ri9iff  in  hb  ttyea, 
A  painihl  paMag^  o*er  a  f— tJoM  flood ; 
A  vain  purmiit  of  fbi^tiye  &l8e  giwd ; 
A  scene  of  fancied  bliss  aixl  heart-fiilt  AarOi  ft 

Closing  at  la«t  in  darkness  tod  despair. 
The  poor,  inured  to  drudg'ry  and  distress, 
Aet  without  aim,  think  little,  and  feel  lose, 
And  no  where,  hut  Ui  feign'd  Arcadian  eeenes, 
Taste  happiness,  or  know  what  pleasure  means*         ]# 
Ricbee  «re  passed  away  from  hand  to  faaad| 
As  fbriune,  viee,  or  fbily  may  command ; 
As  in  a  dance,  the  pair  that  take  the  lead 
Turn  downward,  and  the  lowest  pair  sncceed, 
So  shifting  and  so  various  is  the  plan,  IS 

By  which  Hoav'n  rules  the  miz'd  afiairs  of  man ; 
Vicissitude  wheels  round  this  motley  crowd, 
Tlio  rich  grow  poor^  the  poor  become  purse-proud  > 
Business  is  labour,  and  man's  weakness  such, 
Pleasure  is  labour  .too,  and  tiretf  as  much.  90 

The  very  sense  of  it  foregoes  its  use, 
Qy  repetition  pall'd,  by  age  obtuse. 
i*outh  lost  in  dissipation,  we  deplore, 
Through  life's  sad  remnant;  what  no  sighs  restore  : 

Vot.  I.         '  8 


— '""— — jsrsc 


1 1 


86  HOPE. 

Our  yean  a  fruitless  race  without  a  prize,  85 

Too  many,  yet  too  few  to  make  us  wise. 

Dandling  his  cane  about,  and  taking'snuff, 
Lothario  cries,  What  philosnphick  stuff— 
O  querulous  and  weak  ! — ^whoso  useless  brain 
Once  thought  of  nothing,  and  now  thinks  in  vain;    90 
Whose  eye  reverted  weeps  o'er  aO  the  past, 
Whose  prospect  shows  tIi«B  a  dishoart'ning  waste ; 
W<^d  age  in  thee  resign  his  wintry  reign. 
And  youth  invigorate  that  frame  again. 
Renewed  desire  would  grace  with  other  speech  3S 

Joys  always  priz'd,  when  plac*d  within  our  reacli. 

For,  lift  thy  palsied  head,  shake  off  the  gloom 
That  overhangs  the  borders  of  thy  tomb, 
See  Nature  gay  as  when  she  first  began. 
With  smiles  alluring  her  admirer  man ;  40 

She  spreads  the  morning  over  eastern  hills, 
Earth  glitters  with  the  drops  the  night  distils ; 
The  sun,  obedient  at  her  cdl,  appears. 
To  fling  his  glories  o*er  the  robe  she  wears ; 
Banks  cloth'd  with  flow*rs,  groves  fill'd  with  sprightly 
sounds,  '  45 

The  yellow  tilth,  green  meads,  rocks,  rising  groundfli 
Streams  edg'd  with  osiers,  fatfhing  ev*ry  field. 
Where'er  tliey  flow,  now  seen,  and  now  concealed ; 
From  the  blue  rim,  where  skies  and  mountains  meet,, 
Down  to  the  very  turf  beneath  thy  feet,  50 

Ten  thousand  charms,  that  only  fools  despise. 
Or  Pride  can  look  at  with  indifferent  eyes. 
All  speak  one  language,  iJl  with  one  sweet  voico 
Cry  to  her  universal  realm.  Rejoice  ! 
Man  feels  the  spur  of  passions  and  desires  ;  55 

And  she  gives  largely  more  than  he  requires ; 
Not  that  his  hours  devoted  all  to  Care, 
Hollow-ey'd  Abstinence,  and  lean  Despair, 
The  wretch  may  pine,  while  to  his  smell,  taste,  dght, 
She  holds  a  paradise  of  lich  delight ;  60 


HOPB.  87 

Bat  grently  to  rebuke  his  awkward  fear. 

To  prove  that  what  she  gives,  she  gives  sincertt. 

To  banish  hesitation,  and  proclaim 

His  happiness,  her  dear,  her  only  aiok.  > 

'TIS  grave  philosophy's  absUrdest  dream,  65 

That  Heav'n's  intentions  are  not  what  they  seem 

Thai  only  shadows  are  dispensed  bebwy 

And  earth  has  no  reality  but  yo. 

Thus  things  terrestrial  wear  a  different  hue. 
As  youth  or  age  persuades ;  and  neither  true.  70 

So  Flora's  wreath  through  colour'd  crystal  soeOy 
Tlie  rose  or  lily  appears  blue  or  green. 
But  still  th'  imputed  tints  are  those  alone 
The  -medium  represents,  and  not  their  own* 

To  rise  at  noon,  nt  slipshod  and  undress^  75- 

To  read  the  news  or  fiddle  as  seems  best. 
Till  half  the  world  comes  rattling  at  his  door. 
To  fill  the  dull  vacuity  till  four  ; 
And,  Just  when  ev'ning  turns  the  blue  vault  gray^ 
To  spend  two  hours  in  dressing  for  the  day :  80 

To  make  the  Sun  a  bauble  without  use, 
Save  for  tlie  fruits  his  heav'nly  beams  produce  t 
Quito  to  forget,  or  deem  it  worth  no  tliought. 
Who  bids  him'shine,  or  if  he  shine  or  not ; 
Through  mere  necessity  to  close  his  eyes  85 

Just  when  the  larks  and  when  the  shepherds  rise  • 
l^such  a  life,  so  tediously  the  mmOf 
So  void  of  all  utility  or  aiin, 
That  poor  Jonqnil,  with  almost  ev'ry  breath, 
Sighs  for  his  exit,  vulgarly  call'd  death :  90 

For  he,  with  all  his  follies,  has  a  mind 
Net  yeVso  blank,  or  fashionably  bKnd, 
But  now  and  then  perhaps  a  feeblo  ray     * 
Of  distant  wisdom  shoots  across  his  way  ; 
By  which  he  reads,  that  life  without  a  plan,  05 

As  useless  as  the  moment  it  began, 
^rves  merely  as  a  soil  for  discontent 
To  thrive  in  ;  an  incimibrance  ere  half  spent. 


^^3S?PSLiJ5: 


8b'  HOPE. 

O  weariness  heyrnid  what  asses  feel, 

That  tread  the  circuit  ef  the  cistern  wfieel  j  MW 

A  dull  rotation,  nerer  at  a  stay, 

Yesterday's  face  twin  ima^  of  to-day ; 

While  conversallion,  an  exhausted  stock, 

Grows  drowsy  as  f  he-clicking'  of  a  dock. 

No  need  he  crieS;  of  ^avity  stufl''^  otil  IM 

With  academick  dimity  devout, 

To  read  wise  lectures,  vanity  the  text ; 

Proclaim  the  remedy,  ye  learned,  next ; 

For  truth  telf^evklent,  with  pomp  imprewM, 

Is  vanity  surpassuig  nil  the  rest.  IK^ 

That  remedy,  not  hid  in  deeps  preibnnd. 
Yet  seldom  sought  where  only  to  befhnnd, 
While  paanon  turns  nmie  ftf»n  its  doe  scope 
Th*  inquirer^s  aim,  tiiat  remedy  is  hope. 
Life  is  his  gift,  fhnn  whom  wfaate'er  life  medS|        115 
With  ev'ry  good  and  perfect  gift  proceeds  j 
Bestowed  en  man,  like  all  that  we  partake. 
Royally,  freely,  for  his  bounty's  sake  ; 
Transient  indeed,  as  is  the  fleeting  hour, 
And  yet  the  seed  of  an  immortal  flow'r ;  120 

Designed  in  honour  of  his  endtcss  love. 
To  fill  with  fragance  his  abode  above ; 
No  trifle,  howsoever  short  it  seem. 
And  howsoever  liiiadowy,  no  dream ; 
Its  value  what  no  thought  can  ascertain,  135 

Nor  all  an  angel's  eloquence  explain. 
Men  deal  with  life  as  children  with  their  play, 
Who  first  misuse,  then  cast  their  toys  away ; 
Live  to  no  sober  purpose,  and  contend 
That  their  Creator  had  no  serious  end.  130 

When  God  aid  man  stand  opposite  in  view, 
Man's  disappointment  must  of  course  ensue. 
Tlie  just  Creator  condescends  to  write, 
In  beams  of  inextinguishable  light. 
His  names  of  wisdom,  goodness,  pow'r,  and  love,      135 
On  all  that  blooms  below,  or  shines  above  ; 


^s^ir,-:^ 


HOPE.  m 

To  catch  the  wand'rinf  notice  of  man^tind,   - 
And  teach  tha  world,  if  not  perveraely  Llind, 
His  gracious  attributes,  and  prove  the  share 
Hia  offspring  hold  in  hia  paternal  care.  140 

If,  led  from  earthly  thin^  to  things  divine, 
His  creature  thwart  not  liis  august  design, 
'nien  praise  is  heard  instead  of  reas'nivg  prido, 
And  captious  cavil  and  complaint  subside.^ 
Nature  employ'd  in  her  allotted  place,  1 45 

Is  handmaid  to  ihe  purposes  of  Grace ; 
By  good  vouchsaTd  makes  known  superioor  good| 
And  bliss  not  seen  by  blessings  understood : 
That  bliss,  revealU  in  Scripture,  with  a  glow 
Bright  as  the  covenant- ensuring  bow,  150 

Fires  all  his  feelings  with  a  noble  scorn 
Of  sensual  evil,  and  thus  hope  is  bom. 
Hope  sets  the  stamp  of  vanity  on  all 
That  men  have  deem'd  substantial  since  the  fidl ; 
Yet  has  the  wondrous  virtue  to  educe  155 

From  emptiness  itself  a  real  use  ; 
And  labile  she  takes,  as  at  a  fiUher*«  hand, 
'What  health  and  sober  appetite  demand. 
From,  fitding  good  derives,  with  chemick  art. 
That  lasting  happiness,  a  thankful  heart.  I(i0 

Hope  with  upHfied  foot,  set  free  from  earth. 
Pants  fi>r  the  place  of  her  ethereal  birth, 
On  steady  wings  sails  thiou^  the  immense  abyss, 
Plucks  amaranthine  joys  from  bowers  of  bliss. 
And  crowns  the  soul,  while  yet  a  mourner  here       1G5 
With  wreaths  like  those  triumphant  spirits  wear. 
Hope,  as  an  anchor  firm  and  sure,  holds  fast 
The  Christian  vessel,  and  defies  the  blast. 
Hope  !  nothing  ol^  can  nourish  and  secure 
His  ne\v-born  virtues,  and  preserve  him  pure.  170 

Hope !  let  the  wretch,  onte  conscious  of  the  joy, 
Whtim  now  despairing  agonies  destroy, 
Spoak,  for  he  can,  and  none  so  well  as  he, 
Wiiat  treaaiires  centra,  what  delights  in  thee 
8*  ■ 


SflEE 


Had  he  tho  gems,  th^  8pl«»,  tsad  tke  hnd,  175 

That  boasts  the  treasure,  ^  at  hts  oemnmuMl ; 

The  fragrant  grove)  th'  iiiestimaliie  miiie^ 

Were  li^ht,  ^hen  iv^igliM  mgaaast  ^e  wnU*  of  ihiiuk 

Though  clasp*d  and  cimdled  in  hit  antse's  arms,. 
He  shines  with  all  a  eh«n^*B  ar^Ms  cbssmsi.  180 

Man  is  the  genuhie  offb{>ring  oftimAt, 
Stubborn  and  stttrd^  as  ti  wM  ass'  eoH  ; 
His  passions,  like  thd  wot'ry  atorea  that  skmp 
Beneath  the  smiling  svrfaeeof  tte  dee^ 
Wait  bat  the  larikes  of  &  wintry  storNi,  18& 

To  frown,  and  roar,  and  iAak%  hb  feeble  fcm. 
Fram  infanby  thfoOgh  cliildli«itfs  gidc^  naie 
Ptt>ward  at  school,  and  fredbl  m  hkrpteja, 
The  puny  tyrant  bums  to  imbjogato 
The  free  republick  of  the  nHitj^gig  state.  190 

If  one,  his  equal  in  athletiek  frame, 
Or,  more  prorokin^  still,  of  A«M«r  OMaey 
Oare  step  across  Ms  ai'biCfafy  viewiH) 
An  Iliad,  only  not  in  vetm,  enities ; 
The  little  Greeks  1o<4l  trenddlng  at  ik»  aeale%       106 
Till  the  best  toRgif«>  or  heavieat  haod  pferaili. 

Now  see  him  launchM  into  the  world  at  large ; 
If  priest,  supinely  drt>tiing  o'er  hit  efaargay 
Their  fleece  his  pifiow,  and  hi«  wee^  drawl> 
Though  short,  too  long,  tlw  plica  he  paya  &t  alL    SOO 
If  lawjrer,  lottd  whatever  eattse  he  pkad. 
But  proudest  of  the  worst,  if  tiiat  miceeed. 
Pethaps  a  grave  physician,  gath*ring  fists, 
Punctually  paid  for  lengthening  out  disease; 
No  Cottorij  whose  humanity  sheds  rays  905 

That  make  superiour  e^ll  his  second  praise. 
If  arms  engage  liim,  he  devotes  to  sport 
His  date  of  life,  so  likely  to  be  short ; 
A  soldier  may  be  any  thing,  if  brave, 
So  may  a  tradesman,  if  not  quitt>  a  knave.  310 

Such  stuiT  the  world  is  made  of:  and  mankind 
To  passion,  int'r?st,  pleasure,  whhn,  resigned. 


HOPE.  91 

(listM  oiii  as  if  esbk  #«re  his  Mrs  fraf^ 
Forgiveness,  and  ikm  pn^riiefe  of  he^ 
But  Conscience,  in  seme  mtAiI,  silent  boor,  91$. 

Wlien  capttfailiig  teste  httve  l«»t  tlieff  pow'r; 
Perhaps "wlien  sickness,  or  some  fiiailwldman, 
Heminds  him  ofTdifftoii,  listed  theme  ! 
Starts  from  the  d<»#n>  Oft- wl^eli  she  latelj  ski^ 
And  tells  of  laws  despis*d,  «t  least  net  k»pt :  830 

Shows  with  a  |Kiiiiting  &ifer,  bcit  neaeissy 
A  pale  procession  oCpaet  ihilU  joy*, 
A^  witnesses  of  UesHnge  ibtify  scorn 'd^ 
And  life  abos'd,  and  not  to  be  siibdm'd. 
Mark  these,  she  says ;  Hmss  munittoa'd  firom  afiir«  299 
Begin  their  marcfti  to  meet  tiiee  at  the  bar  ; 
There  find  a  judge  inexorahfy  j«it, 
And  p«rish  there,  as  afl  preswmptiea  most. 

Pea^  foe  to  those,  (suek  peaee  as  earth  cam  ^y,) 
Who  live  in  pleasure,  dead  e*ea  while  tliey  liire  ;     239 
Bom,  capable,  indeed,  <»f  hea^*iidy  truth  ; 
But  down  to  latest  age,  HFem  eor^st  yoath, 
Their  mind  a  wiMemess  fhfoogh  want  ef  ease. 
The  plough  of  wisdom  ncrver  ettt^taig  there. 
Peace,  (if  insensibility  mi^daim  835 

A  right  to  the  meeik  honours  of  htfr  naflM^ 
To  men  of  pedigree,  ^letriioble  raee, 
Emulous  always  ofthe  nearet^  plaee 
To  any  throne,  except  the  throne  of  <xYace. 
Let  cottagers  and  unenlightened  swaiAs  240 

Rovere  the  laws  they  dream*d  that  Heav*!!  ofdaim; 
Resort  on  Sundafjrs  to  the  house  of  plray^. 
And  ask,  and  fancy  th^  find 'blessings  there. 
Themselves,  perhaps,  nHien  weary  they  retreat 
T*  enjoy  cool  nature  in  a  country  seat,  245 

T'  exchange  the  centre  of  a  thousand  trades, 
Tot  clumps,  and  lawns,  and  temples,  and  oascadef| 
May  now  and  then  their  velvet  cushions  take , 
^nd  seem  to  pi^i  for  good  example  sake  ; 


^  \ 


08  HOPS. 

Jadging,  m  charity,  no  doubt,  tlM  town  250 

Pious  enough,  and  having  need  of  none. 
Kind  souls !  to  teacA  their  tenantry  to  prixe 
What  they  themselTes,  without  renorse  dospiitt : 
Nor  hope  faave  they,  nor  fear  of  aught  to  oobm^ 
As  well  for  them  had  prophecy  be«a  dumb ;  355 

They  could  have  heM  the  eoaduct  they  pursue. 
Had  Paid  of  Tarsus  liv'd  and  died  a  Jew ; 
And  truth,  proposal  to  reas'ners  wise  aa  they^ 
Is  a  pearl  cast— com|detely  oast  away. 
They  die— Death  lends  them,  pleaa'd,  and  as  in 

sport,  ^  aco 

AU  the  grim  honours  of  his  ghastly  court* 
Far  other  paiirtings  grace  the  chamber  now, 
Where  late  we  saw 'the  mimick  landscape  glow  s 
The  busy  heralds  rang  the  sable  scene 
With  mournful  seutehecms,  and  dim  lamps  between  i 
Proclaim  their  titles  to  the  crowd  around,  2Ck 

But  they  that  wore  them  move  not  at  the  sound ; 
The  coronet  ^ao*d  higUy  at  their  head, 
,  Adds  nothing  now  to  the  degraded  dead  ; 
And  e*en  the  star,  that  glitters  on  the  bieri  970 

Can  only  say — Nobility  lies  here. 
Peace  to  all  suoh-~-'twero  pity  to  ofi&nd, 
By  useless  censure,  whom  we  cannot  mend| 
Life  without  hope  can  close  but  in  despair, 
Twaa  there  we  found  thran,  and  must  leave  them 
there.  275 

As  when  two  pilgrims  in  a  forest  stray» 
Both  may  be  lost,  yet  each  in  his  own  way.; 
So  fares  it  with  the  multitudes  beguil'd 
In  vain  Opinion's  waste  and  dang'rous  wild ;  >^ 

Ten  thousand  rove  the  brakes  and  thorns  am.ong,    280 
Some  eastward,  and  some  westward,  and  all  wrong. 
But  here,  alas !  the  fatal  difTrence  lies, 
Each  man's  belief  is  right  in  his  own  eyes ; 
And  he  that  blames  what  they  have  blindly  chose, 
Incurs  resentment  for  the  love  he  shows.  5285 


HOPE.  9a 

S&y,  botuurt,  wkhhi  whoM  provinc*  fiUl 
Tho  cedar  and  th^iiywf  on  tlia  wall, 
Of  all  that  deck  the  laaea,  tlie  ftalda^  the  Ww'xa  , 
What  parU  the  kindMd  tnboa  afweeda  and  fluw'ra? 
Sweet  scant,  or  iareiy  ferm,  or  bath  cMobia'd^        290 
Diatinguiah  er'ff  ouHivatad  kind; 
Tho  want  of  bath  deaaiaa  a.  maimer  btotd, 
And  Chloe  from  Imp  ftftand  piaka  the  wmtd. 
Thus  hopes  (^ev*ry  eort,  whalairof  aaot 
Eateom  them,  sow  them,  rear  thoai,  and  paetact     295 
If  wilds  in  nature,  end  not  d«il^  faondf 
Qothsemano !  in  thy  dear  haUow'd  grovml, 
That  cannot  bear  tho  Maze  of  Sonpturo  U|^ 
Nor  cheer  the  spirit,  not  isafroak  tlio  aiglil^ 
Nor  animate  tho  omi}  to  CSirialian  deoda,  9DS 

(Oh  cost  them  firmntheo  *)  are  weeds,  arranl  weidfc 

fithelrod*s  hofQse,  the  centre  of  aix  wej% 
Diverging  each  from  eaok,  like  oqoa^  ntys) 
Himscslf  as  bonntifUI  as  Api^  ratna, 
Lord  paramount  of  the  aorroauding-  piabiay  M^ 

Would  give  relief  of  bed  and  board  to  nonoi 
But  quests  that  sought  it  in  th*  appointed  dna  / 
And  they  might  enter  al  hia  open  door^ 
E'en  till  his  spactons  hall  would  hold  no  bmtow 
He  sent  a  servant  ibrth,  by  ev'ry  road,  ^0 

To  sound  hia  horn,  and  publish  it  ai>ro8d. 
Thtlt  all  might  mark— knighl,  menial,  high,  and  Ivir, 
An  ordinance  it  concem'd  thern  much  to  know. 
If  after  all  some  headstrong  hardy  krot 
Would  disobey,  though  sure  to  be  shtit  ont,  S15 

Could  ho  with  reason  murmur  at  his  case, 
Himself  sole  author  of  his  own  diir^race  ? 
No  !  the  decree  was  just  and  witliout  flaw; 
And  ho  that  made,  had  right  to  make  tho  hrw ; 
His  Bov'reign  power,  and  pleasure  unreatmin'd,        8W 
The  wrong  was  his  who  wrongfully  complain'd. 

Tot  half  mankind  maintadns  a  churlish  strifo 
With  Hun,  tho  Donor  of  eternal  hfe, 


M.  IIOPK. 

Because  the  deed,  by  which  hk  love  etm&noM 

The  largess  h?  bestows,  prescribes  the  tennt.  325 

Compliance  with  his  will  your  lot  ensures,     , 

Accept  it  only,  and  tlie  boon  is  yours* 

And  sure  it  is  as  kind  to  smile  and  give, 

As  with  a  frown  to  say.  Do  this,  and  live. 

Jx>ve  is  not  pedler*8  tmmp'ry,  bought  and  iold  •       330.* 

He  will  give  freely,  or  he  wUl  withhold  »  / 

His  soul  abhors  a  mercenary  thought, 

And  him  as  deeply  who  abhors  it  not ; 

He  stipulates,  indeed,  but  merely  this, 

That  man  will  freely  take  an  unbought  bli8%  33S 

Will  trust  him  for  a  faithful  gen'rous  partt 

Nor  set  a  price  upon  a  willing  heart. 

Of  all  the  wL/s  that  seem  to  pixmiise  fair. 

To  |Haoe  you  where  his  saints  his  presence  share. 

This  only  can ;  for  this  plain  cause,  ej^ross'd         340 

In  terms  as  plain— -Himself  has  shut  the  rosL 

But  oh  the  strife,  the  bickering,  and  debate, 

The  tidings  of  unpurchased  Heav'n  create ! 

The  flirted  fan,  the  bridle,  and  the  toss, 

All  speakers,  yet  all  language  at  a  loss.  345 

From  stucco'd  walls  smart  arguments  rebound  ; 

And  beaux,  adepts  in  ev>y  tiling  profound, 

Via  of  disdain,  or  whistle  off  the  suund. 

Such  is  the  clamour  of  rooks,  d^ws,  and  kites, 

Th*  explosion  ofthe  levelled  tube  excites,  350 

Where  mouldering  abbey  walls  o'erhang  tlie  glado. 

And  oaks  coeval  spread  a  mournful  shade, 

The  screaming  nations,  hov'ring  in  mid  air. 

Loudly  resent  the  stranger's  freedom  there, 

And  seem  to  warn  him  never  to  repeat    .  355 

His  bold  intrusion  on  their  dork  retreat. 

Adieu,  Vinosa  cries,  .ere  yet  he  sips 
T^o  purple  bumper  trembling  at  his  lips-^ 
Adieu  to  all  morality !  if  Grace 
Make  works  a  vain  ingredient  in  the  case.  360 


HOPfi.  90 

The  Cliristian  hope  is — Waiter,  draw  tbeeorit— 

It  I  mistake  not^-^Btockhetul !  with  a  ibrk ! 

Without  fgood  works,  whatever  some  maj  boost, 

Mere  (i>l\y  and  delosion-^-Sir,  your  toast. 

My  firm  persuasion  is,  at  least  sometimes,  96& 

That  Heav*n  will  weigh  man's  Tirtnes  and  his  erfurts 

With  nice  attention,  in  a  righteous  scale, 

And  save  or  daam  as  these  or  those  prevatL 

I  plant  my  foot  upon  thb  ground  of  trust. 

And  silence  ev'ry  fear  with— God  f«  jutft.  37% 

But  if,  perchance,  on  some  dull,  driixling  day, 

A  thought  mtmde,  that  sajrs,  or  seems  to  say, 

If  thus  th*  important  cause  is  to  be  tried, 

Suppose  the  beam  should  dip  on  the  wrong  iride ; 

I  soon  recover  fhnn  those  needless  frights,  37^ 

And  God  is  merciful — sets  all  to  rights. 

Thbs  between  justice,  as  my  prime  support. 

And  mercy,  fled  to  *•  the  last  resort, 

I  glide  and  steal  along  with  Httar'tt  hi  riew, 

And — ^pardon  me,  the  bottle  staads  wHh  yon.  380 

I  never  will  believe,  the  eblenel  cries. 
The  sanguinary  schemes  that  some  devise. 
Who  make  the  good  Creator  on  their  plan, 
A  being  of  less  equity  than  man. 
If  appetite,  <nr  what  drrxnes  call  Inst,'  385 

Which  men  comply  with,  e'en  because  they  must, 
Be*  puniah*d  with  perdition,  who  is  pure  ? 
Then  theirs,  no  doubt,  as  well  as  mine,  is  stiro. 
If  sentence  of  eternal  pain  belong 
To  ev*ry  sudden  slip  and  transient  wrong,  H^O 

Then*  Heaven  enjoins  the  fiiUible  and  frail 
A  hopeless  task,  and  damns  them  if  they  fkil. 
My  creed,  (wliatever  some  creed-makers  mean 
By  Athanasian  nonsense,  or  Nicene,) 
My  creed  is,  he  is  safb,  that  does  his  best,  38S 

And  death's  a  doom  sufficient  for  the  rest. 

Right,  sajip  an  ensign  ;  and  ^  aught  I  M« 
four  faith  and  ftiine  substantially  agree ; 


m  HOFE. 

Tbo  b«it  of  arVy  mMt^s  pcrfijmimiiee  hen 

Is  to  ^i^haiwe  ik9  datiM  of  lik  i|»li«r8.  400 

A  hiwytr*%  4e«lihifs  flhooM  be  jtMt  and  fSuTi  « 

Honettj  sliines  with  fraol  •dhmatagre  tbero. 

FMting  and  pi^*r  tit  well  vfioii  a  prieft, 

A  4eoeiii  caution  aad  reaenw  at  loasl. 

A  soldier's  best  Is  oonraf^v  in  the  field,  40$ 

With  nothin|r  here  that  wants  to  be  oeaoial*d. 

Mnrdj  d jportnent,  gaUant,  easy,  gaj ; 

A  hand  as  lib'ral  as  the  li^rht  of  day. 

The  soldier  thus  endow'd  who  never  shrii^ 

Nor  closets  up  his  thoo^ts,  whsle'er  he  thinks,     410 

Who  scorns  to  do  an  injury  by  stealth. 

Must  go  to  HeaT'n--and  1  ntuit  drink  his  health. 

Sir  Smug,  he  cries,  (^  lowest  at  the  'board, 

Just  made  fifth  chaplain  of  his  patron  lord. 

His  shoulders  witnessittf  by  many  a  shrug  41S 

How  much  his  feelings  suAn^'dyint  Sir  8mug,) 

Tour  office  is  to  winnow  fklse  from  true  ; 

Ceme,  Prophet,  drink,  and  teR  us.  What  think  you  ? 

Sighin«r  and  smiKng  as  he  takes  his  glass, 
Which  they  that  woo  pvefbrtnent  rarely  pass,  480 

Fallible  man,  the  ehutch-bred  youth  replies, 
Is  still  found  fiillible,  howerer  wise ; 
And  diflTring  judgments  smrre  but  to  declare. 
That  truth  lies  somewhere,  if  we  knew  but  where. 
Of  all  it  ever  was  my  lot  to  read,  435 

Of  criticks  now  alive,  or  long  since  dead, 
The  book  of  all  the  world  that  charm'd  me  moat 
Was— well-a-day — the  title  page  was  lost ; 
The  writer  well  remarks,  a  heart  that  knowe 
To  take  with  g^titude  what  Heav*n  bestows,        430 
With  pmdeace  always  ready  at  our  call. 
To  guide  our  use  of  it,  is  all  in  all; 
Doubtless  it  is— To  which,  of  my  own  store, 
I  superadd  a  few  essentials  more  ; 
But  these,  excuse  the  liberty  I  take,  ^.  435 

I  wave  just  new,  fer  conveieation's  sake.— 


p?* 


Bora.  m 

Bpoke  lUra  «»  Cffacler  tW  aU  •xoImib, 

^nd  add  Right  Reverend  toSuM^^'t  boMiir'd  MdMw 

And  yet  our  lot  is  giv*a  w  in  a  Uum1| 
Wliere  bo^  ntU  are  never  el  a  etand ;  440 

Where  Science  points  ^r  telesbopiek  ejf., 
Familiar  with  tbe  .wonders  of  Uie  sky  ', 
Where  bold  inquiry,  diving  o'oiof  aghtf 
Brings  many  a  proekMis  pearl  of  iniUi  to  tigjil  > 
Where  naught  eludes  the  persevering  quost^  445 

That  fasjiion,  taste,  or  luxury,  suggest. 

But  above  aJJ^  in  her  own  light  arcay'dv 
See  Mercy's  gniad  apocalypse  display'd  * 
The  sacred  book  no  longer  suffers  wrong, 
Bound  in  the  fetters  of  an  unknown  tongue ;  490 

But  speaks  with  plainness,  art  could  never  msiid, 
What  simplest  minds  can  seoncsi  comprelteML 
God  gives  the  word,  the  preachers  tluimg  afoiMMi, 
Live  from  Jiis  lips,  and  spread  the  glorious  fouwt ; 
That  sound  bespeaks  Salvation  on  her  wfiy^  4d5 

The  trumpet  of  a  life-restoring  day  ^ 
*Tis  heard  where  England's  eastern  glory  Mhineii 
And  in  the  gulfs  of  ber  Comubian  mmes. 
And  still  it  spreads.    See  Germany  send  fertli  . 
Her  sons*  to  pour  it  on  the  farthest  north :  460 

Fir'd  with  a  zeal  peculiar,  they  defy 
The  rage  and  rigour  of  a  polar  sky. 
And  plant  successfully  sweet  Sharon's  X£m 
On  icy  plains,  and  in  eternal  snows. 

O  blcss'd  within  th*  enclosure  of  your  rocks,        466 
Nor  herds  have  ye  to  boast,  nor  bleating  flocks ; 
No  fertilizing  streams  your  fields  divide, 
That  show  reversed  the  villas  on  their  side  ; 
No  groves  have  ye ;  no  cheerful  sound  of  bird, 
Or  voice  of  turtle  in  your  land  is  heard ;  470 

Nor  grateful  eglantine  regales  the  smell 
Of  those  that  walk  at  ev'ning  where  ye  dwoU ) 

*  The  Moravian  9fis»onaries  in  GreenlMd.    See  Kcanli. 
Vol.  I.  9 


m  Hora. 

But  winter,  arin*4l  wkh  terroim  h&n  nnkiiowiH 

Siu  abeolute  on  bis  nnshaken  throne  ; 

Pilft^  up  his  storee  amidst  the  frozen  watte,  478 

And  bids  the  mountains  lie  haii  built  stand  fiwt : 

Beckons  the  l«^ieii»  of  his  storms  away 

From  happier  scenes,  to  make  your  land  a  prey  } 

Proclaims  the  soil  a  conquest  he  has  won. 

And  scorns  to  share  it  with  the  distant  Sun.  '         480 

— Yet  truth  is  yours,  remote,  unenvied  isle ! 

And  Peace,  the  genuine  ofispring  of  her  smile ; 

The  pride  of  lettered  Ignorance  that  binds 

In  chains  of  errour  our  aecomplish'd  mmds. 

That  decks  with  all  the  splendour  <tf  the  true,         485 

A  false  religion  is  unkIlp^▼n  to  you. 

Nature,  indeed,  vouchsafes  for  our  delight 

The  sweet  vicissitudes  of  day  and  night : 

Soft  airs  and  genial  moisture  feed  and  cheer 

Field,  firuit,  and  flow'r,  and  er'ry  creature  here ;      400 

But  brighter  beanks  than  his  who  fires  the  skies, 

Hare  ris'n  at  length  on  yoat  admiring  eyes. 

That  shoot  into  your  darkept  eaves  tlie  day. 

From  which  our  nicer  opticks  turn  away. 

Here-  nee  the  encouragement  Grace  gives  to  vice, 
The  dire  effect  of  mercy  without  price !  496 

What  wern  they  ?  what  some  fools  are  made  by  art, 
They  were  by  nature,  atheists  head  and  heart. 
The  (rross  idolatry  Mind  heathens  teach, 
Was  too  refin'd  for  them,  beyond  their  reach.  COO 

Not  e'en  the  glorious  Sun,  though  men  revere 
The  monarch  most,  that  seldom  will  appear. 
And  tho'  his  beams,  that  quicken  where  they  shine, 
May  churn  some  right  to  be  esteem 'd  divine, 
Not  e'en  the  Sun,  desirable  as  rare,  503 

Could  bend  one  knee,  engage  one  votary  there  ; 
They  were,  what  base  Credulity  believes 
True  Christians  are,  dissemblers,  drunkards,  thieves  : 
The  fuU-gorg'd  savage,  at  his  nauseous  feast 
Spmt  lialf  the  darkness,  and  snor*d  out  the  rest,     510 


HOPE.  •• 

Wm  one,  wham  JotBee,  <m  ma  equtl  pka 
Denouncing  death  upon  ^m  mm  of  raan. 
Might  almost  larro  indnlg'd  with  an  eeeape, 
Chargeable  oaky  with  a  human  ehape. 

What  are  they  now  ?— Morality  may  epav*  51S 

Her  grave  ooo^em,  her  kind  eoepieiona  thef» : 
The  wretch,  who  ooee  eang  wikHy,  dane'd,  and  ki^d. 
And  snclL^d  in  diDey  ttadneee  with  his  draught. 
Has  wept  a  silent  flood,  reren'd  his  ways. 
Is  sober,  medt,  benevolent,  and  prays,  (SOO 

Feeds  sparingly,  commonieates  his  sCoie, 
Abhors  the  en£t  he  boasted  of  befinre. 
And  he  that  stole  has  leam'd  to  steal  no  more. 
Well  spake  the  pro^et— Let  the  desert  sing, 
Where  sprang  the  thorn,  the  spiry  fir  shall  spring,  fSK 
And  where  unsightly  ttid  rank  Uidsties  greW| ' 
Shall  grow  the  myrtle  and  luxuriant  yew. 

60  now,  and  with  important  tone  demand 
On  what  foundation  virtue  is  to  stand, 
If  self-exalting  claims  be  turned  adrif^  635 

And  grace  be  grace  indeed,  and  life  a  gift ; 
The  poor  reclaimed  inhabitant,  his  eyes 
Glistening  at  once  with  pity  and  surprise, 
Amaz'd  that  shadows  should  obscure  the  nght 
Of  one,  whose  birth  was  in  a  land  of  light,  63S 

Shall  answer,  Hope,  sweet  Hope,  has  set  me  free, 
And  made  all  pleasures  else  mere  dross  to  me* 

These  amidst  scenes  as  waste  as  if  denied 
T)ie  common  oaie  tliat  waits  on  all  beside, 
Wild  as  if  Naturo  there,  void  of  all  good,  MO 

Play*d  only  gambols  in  a  frantick  mood 
(Yot  charge  not  heavenly  skill  with  havmg  pknn  d 
A  play  thing  world,  unworthy  of  bis  hand ;) 
Can  see  his  love,  though  beeret  evil  lurks 
In  all  we  touch,  stamped  plainly  on  his  works  }         64fi 
Deem  life  a  blessing  with  its  nom'rous  woes, 
Nor  spum  away  a  gift  a  Grod  bestows. 


TJHIV;       •  ■  >;. 


Hard  task  indlMd  o^t  wnctiek  wm»  to  roan ! 

Is  hope  exotick  f  ^rows  it  not  at  lions  ' 

Tes,  but  an  oljoot,  Krigiit  at  orioat  mmi,  CM 

May  press  the  eye  too  clonly  to  bo  berno  ; 

A  distant  yhtoe  we  can  aH  eoniom, 

It  hurts  otrr  pride,  and  momes  oov  eary  kn. 

Leueonemas,  (beneath  weU-nvndm|^Gc«d^ 
I  khiT  a  name,  a  poet  miiit  not  spoaky)  •  65& 

Stood  pilloried  on  Inikniiy*!  h^  ata^^ 
And  bore  the  peHhfi|^  scorn  of  half  an  age : 
The  very  butt  of  Slander,  and  tho  hfot 
For  ev*ry  dart  that  Maiice  oTorskot. 
The  man  that  mentioned  him  at  oboo  dinsinM.       SGH 
All  mercy  from  kis  lips,  and  sneer^  aad  kin'd ; 
His  crimes  were  such  as  Siodom  ne^er  knowi 
And  Perjury  stood  up  to  swear  all  true ; 
His  aim  was  mischief,  and  kis  seal  pietence, 
His  speech  rebellion  against  common  sonso ;  565 

A  knave,  when  tried  on  hoMesty%  plain  rule ; 
And  when  by  that  of  reason,  a  more  Ibol ; 
The  World's  best  comfort  was,  his  doom  was  peasd: 
Die  when  he  might,  he  must  be  daom'd  at  last. 

Now,  Tnith,  perform  thine  olfice ;  wall  aside      570 
The  curtain  drawn  by  Prejudice  and  Pride, 
Reveal,  (the  man  is  dead)  to  wond'ring  eyes, 
Tliis  more  than  monster  in  his  proper  guise. 
He  lov'd  the  world  that  hated  him ;  the  tear 
That  dropp^  upon  his  Bible  was  sincere :  475 

Assaird  by  scandal  and  the  tongpue  of  strife, 
His  only  answer  w^s  a  blameless  iiie  ; 
And  he  that  forg'd,  and  he  that  threw  the  dart, 
Had  each  a  brother's  int'rest  in  his  heart. 
Paul's  love  of  Ckrtst,  and  steadiness  unbrib'd,  480 

Were  copied  close  in  him,  and  well  transerib'd. 
He  followed  Paul ;  his  Eeal  a  kindred  flame^ 
His  apostolick  chiu4ty  the  same, 
liike  him,  cross'd  cheoHuUy  tempestuous  naa, 
Forsaking  country,  kindred,  friends,  and  case  ;        585 


HOPE.  Itl 

Like  him  he  hltoiir'd,  tad  lilw  Inni  emrtaai 

To  bear  it,  8tiffer*d  tiuaiie  wlMie'er  he  weoL 

Bli|ph  Calumny  I  and  write  iqmi  hietonhy 

If  honest  Ealogy  ea»  spare  thee  roem^ 

Thy  deep  repentance  ii  thy  thousand  lies,  600 

Which,  aim'd  at  him,  have  pieroM  th'  eflbadedskioa ! 

And  say,  Blot  out  my  sin,  eonleas'dy  4feplor*d, 

Against  thhie  image,  in  thy  saint,  O  JLosd  < 

No  blinder  bigot,  I  maintain  it  still, 
Than  he  who  most  have  pleasare,  oone  what  wiU : 
He  laughs,  whatever  weapen  Tnlth  nay  dmw,       600 
And  ^teemff  her  sharp  arttUeiy  meare  stiww. 
Serlpture  indeed  is  ^ain ;  bat  CM  and  he 
On  Scripture  ground  are  sure  to  diaagree  \ 
Some  wiser  rule  must  teach  him  hew  to  !■?•,  600 

Than  tliis  his  Maker  has  seen  fit  to  gWe ; 
Bupple  and  fleidMe  as  Indian  cme, 
To  take  the  bend  ins-  appetites  ordain ; 
Contrived  to  suit  fVail  Nature's  crazy  ease, 
And  reconcile  )h«  lust  with  savii^  gnoe.  60ft 

By  this,  with  nice  preeisioa  of  design. 
He  draws  upon  lUeV  map  a  aigsag  line> 
That  shows  how  ^  'tis  safir  to  follow  sin, 
And  where  his  danger  and  Crod's  wrath  begiOb 
By  this  he  forms,  as  pleas'd  he  sports  aieng,  0UV 

Hts  well-pois'd  estimate  of  right  and  wrong ; 
And  find^  the  modish  manners  of  the  day, 
Though  loose,  as  hM>mIees  as  an  mfknt'splay. 

Build  by  whatever  plan  Caprice  decrees. 
With  what  materials,  on  what  ground  you  please ;  619 
Tour  hope  shall  stand  unblam'd,  perhaps  admir'd. 
If  not  that  hope  the^  Scripture  has  re<|uir*d. 
The  strange  conceits,  vain  projects,  ami  wild  dreams. 
With  which  hypocrisy  for  ever  teems, 
(Though  other  folKes  strike  the  pubtick  eye,  690 

And  raise  a  laugh,)  pass  unmolested  by  ; 
But  if,  uiMsnvsUe  in  word  or  thought, 
A  man  arise,  a  man  whom  God  has  taught 
9" 


am  HOPK. 

With  all  Eli}sk%4ipiity  W'Umo, 

And  aU  the  loir»  «f  the  beltmd  Mm,  6W 

To  fltorm  the  «ilMlei»  Hm^  b«U  in  «ir, 

And  emite  the  antsoperVl  w«H ;  tie  ^le^th  io  i|pM«* 

To  sweep  awi^  ai  rafVigM  of  liei, 

And  pkeByiakaad  of  ynrioi  theaMeirei  ^t»ite» 

I.gfmi  j<ii>fltf/biiw  ^efeio  Aeif  eye  ;  630 

To  prove,  that  wkhoHt  Obsitt  aH  gmm  m  leM, 

All  hope  deapair,  tfast  ataadt  not  on  hk  «reai  i 

Except  tiie  ftw  him  QoA  amf  hmm  kofgmta^4, 

A  tenfold €nmf  eeiBse i^  thereat. 

Throughout  — lfind,ih»Cairbttattidiid  «iiMirt, 
There  dwells  •  cooaeiottuieflB  im  er^  bi»Mt|  (Pi 

That  folly  ends  where  femine  hope  befini) 
And  he  thai  finds  his  Heav*B  flrast  lose  iiuieiiis. 
Nature  opposes  wHh  her  utmost  Ibree 
This  riving  stroke,  this  vUthnate  divorce ;  4S4Q 

And,  while  rehgion  seems  to  be  her  vitfWy 
Hates  with  a  (ksep  meerity  tiu  true ; 
Far  this,  of  all  that  ever  influene'd  nian, 
Since  Abel  worshipp*d,  or  the  world  began» 
This  only  spares  no  hist,  admits  no  plea,  £49 

But  makes  him,  if  at  all,  completely  free  ; 
Sounds  forth  the  aignal,  as  she  mcnrnts  her  ear* 
Of  an  eternal,  oniversal  war ; 

Rejects  all  treaty,  penetrates  mil  wiles,  649 

Scorns  with  the  baflfie  iBfttiTrenee  Snfmm  and  emiliNi ; 
Drives  thre«gh  the  reahnsof  SiA»  where  JUotTeelaf 
And  grinds  his  eroim  beneath  her  bunuBg'Wheehi ! 
Hence  aU  that  is«i  man,  pride,  passion,  ftrt, 
Pow'rs  of  the  mind,  nnd  feelittlfB  of  the  heiirt> 
Insennble  of  Trttth*s  almighty  charms,  €05 

Starts  at  to  first  epfnoaeh,  and  sounds  to  arms! 
While  Bigotry,  with  welMlssembled  fears, 
Sis  eyes  shut  fast.  Us  fingers  in  his  ears. 
Mighty  to  parry  and  push  by  Ood's  word 
With  senseless- neise,  his  argument  the  sword^        €90 


■  -ninv^r;. 


HOFB.  !#:> 

Pretendi  a  zeaj  Iwr  godtiiiMii  and  gmo*. 
And  spitii  abhoireMf  -in  1^  Chrintian**  &£•« 

Parent  cfH^^  inoMrtal  TrUk  i  «mU  kmmm 
Thy  ifoathlewiRMUw  Mid4fi«Mifibi  all  Uon^  own: 
The  silent  progveis  i£^f  po«r*r  w  fupli^  fiQB 

Thy  moanft  •#  iPfbU»  immI  deipU'd  to  wne^ 
That  few  Mie^e  t^  weadflrp  thon  IimA  wvo^fbt. 
And  noneimi  ^»ph  ifeiBm,  ^nl  w^mb  tiifv  Jiaat  taaglit. 
O  see  me  swom^Ker¥f  tJii«e,  aofi  comwind 
A  painter's  ukM  Wto  ii  p9«^*«  iiand*  490 

That  while  I  tfeinbJin^  Ume  a  vork  div4pit» 
FanejtfMjr  slswliilqof  irom  thp  deaiiirA* 
^Aad  U;lit,4a^«hfMle,  and  ev'^y  sIipoJm  be  tim^ 

If  ever  thon  hast^eli  ifwthet^s  pain : 
If  ever  wIma  lie  m^h'^t  hiu^  sif  }i'd  again  *  €75 

If  ever  on  thy  ey#lid  stood  the  tear 
That  pity  had  ^9§mhAv%  dro^'^oe  kv- 
This  man  wa»  Jiappf'-Hhad  te  Wnrjd'a  ^oad  wmi$ 
And  with  it  ev'fy  joy  it  can  afod } 
Friendship  and  knw  seem'd  tenderiy  aft  stcifsi  €00 

Which  most  should  sweeten  his  nntipoublad  Ufii  { 
Politely  learn'dy  and  «(f  a  genUe  lace, 
Good  breeding  and  good  sense  gave  all  a  grno^ 
And  whether  at  the  loUetta  of  the  iair 
Ho  laugh'd  and  trifled,  made  him  wels^Mielhinpi  iBSfi 
Or  if  in  maseutine  debste  he  aliar'ds 
Ensured  him  mnfte  attei^ion  and  nagard. 
^Abis,  hnw  ehsng'd  1  fl^qpfessiT^  of  his  inind» 
His  ayes  ate  sunk,  Anna  folded^  h«ad  reotin'd ; 
Those  aw^syUables,  HeU,  deat^ and  sin,  m 

Though  wJMspnr'd  plainly^  tell  what  werlw  withfli  > 
That  Conscience  tWe  pei;lorms  her  proper  pMt» 
And  writetf  a^oomaday  santsnoe  on  his  haact ', 
Forssking,  and  forsaken  of  all  firtends, 
He  now  pereeives  where  earthly  pleasure  «nd|l       €M( 
Hard  task !  for  one  who  lateiiy  knew  nO'Oafls^ 
And  hanlMr  slill  as  leatn'd  ban^albh  df^wr 


T^  HO?B. 

His  houra  no  longer  pass  immarkM  ttwaj, 

A  dark  importance  saddens  er'ry  day ; 

He  liears  the  notice  of  the  clock  perplexed,  700 

And  cries,  Perhaps  eternity  strikes  next ; 

Sweet  musick  is  no  longer  mtisiek  hefe, 

And  laughter  sounds  like  madness  in  his  ear  ; 

His  grief  the  world  of  all  her  pow*r  disarms^ 

Wine  has  no  taste,  and  beauty  has  no  dian&i;        765 

God's  holy  "vrord,  once  trivial  in  his  TieWi 

Now  by  the  voice  of  his  experience  true, 

Seems,  as  it  is,  tiie  fimntain  whence  alone 

Must  spring  that  hope  he  pants  to  make  his  tmn 

Now  let  the  bright  reverse  be  known  abroad ;      710 
Say  man's  a  worm,  and  pow'r  belongs  to  Crod. 

As  when  a  fblon,  whom  his  country's  lairs 
Have  justly  doom'd  for  some  atroeious  cause. 
Expects  in  darkness  and  heart  chllBiftg  fears, 
The  shameM  close  of  att  his  mispent  years ; '  713 

If  chance,  on  heavy  pinioipi  slowly  borne, 
A  tempest  usher  in  the  dreaded  mom. 
Upon  his  dungeon  walls  the  lightnings  play. 
The  thunder  seems  to  summon  him  away. 
The  warder  at  the  door  his  key  applies,  79X1 

Shoots  back  the  boh,  and  aS  his  cburage  dies 
If  then,  just  then,  all  thoughts  of  mercy  lort, 
When  hope,  long  ling'ring,  at  last  yields  the  ghoi^, 
The  sound  of  pardon  pierce  his  startled  ear,  ^    - 

He  drops  at  once  his  fetters  and  his  fear ;  1SB 

A  transport  glows  in  all  he  lo<^s  and  speaks. 
And  the  first  thaidtfiid  tears  bedew  his  chedcs. 
Joy,  ^  superiour  joy,  that  much  outweighs 
The  o<»nfort  of  a  few  poor  added  days, 
Invades,  possesses,  and  o'erwfaehns  the  soul  720 

Of  him,  whom  Hope  has  with  a  touch  made  whole, 
lis  HeaVn,  all  Heav'n^descending  on  the  wings 
Of  the  glad  legidns  of  the  King  of  kings ; 
Tis  more — ^^s  God  diffhsM  through  ev'ry  part> 
Tis  God  himself  triumphant  in  his  heart  736 


it:sessrA 


HOP£.  Hi 

O  welcome  now  tbe  Sun's  once  hated  light 
HU  noonday  beams  were  never  half  so  bright. 
Not  kindred  minds  alone  are  call'd  t'  employ 
Their  hour^,  their  days,  in  list'ning  to  his  joy ; 
Unconscious  nature  all  that  he  surveys,  740 

Rocks,  groves,  and  streams,  must  join  him   m   hb 
praise. 

These  are  thy  glorious  works,  eternal  Truth, 
The  scoff  of  wither 'd  age  and  beardless  youth ; 
These  move  the  censure  ^d  illib'ral  grin 
Of  fools  that  hate  thee  and  delight  in  sin :  745 

But  these  shall  last  when  night  has  (juench'd  tlM 

pole, 
And  Heav*n  b  all  depaitad  as  a  scroU. 
And  when,  as  Justice  has  l<mg  since  decreed, 
This  earth,  fhall  blaze,  and  a  new  world  succeed, 
Then  these  thy  glorious  works,  and  they  who  share 
That  hope,  which  can  alone  exclude  despair,  751 

Shall  live  exempt  firom  weakness  and  decay, 
The  brightest  wonders  of  an  Endless  day. 

Happy  the  bard,  (if  that  fidr  name  belong 
To  him  that  blends  no  fable  with  his  stmg,)  TBS 

Whose  lines  uniting,  by  an  honest  art, 
The  faithful  monitor's,  and  poet's  part, 
Seek  to  delight,  that  they  may  mend  msnkmdi 
And  while  they  captivate,  infiirm  the  mind : 
Still  happier,  if  he  till  a  thankful  soil,  7180 

And  (ruit  reward  his  ho^urable  toil : 
But  happier  far,  who  comfinrt  those  that  wait 
To  hear  plain  truth  at  Judah's  haUow'4  gate : 
Their  language  simple,  as  their  manners  meek ; 
No  shining  Wnaments  have  they  to  seek ;  7G5 

Hot  labour  they,  nor  time,  nor  talents  waste, 
fn  sorting  flow'rs  to  suit  a  fickle' taste  ; 
But  while  they  speak  the  wisdom  of  the  skies, 
Wliich  art  can  only  darken  and  disguise, 
Th'  abundant  kar^t,  recompense  divine,  999 

ftiopays  their  work-— the  gie*niog  only  mine. 


CHARITY. 


^tonikilmaJusmHmmoeterriB 
faia  iimca>ere,.bcmqm  4ivi ; 
Jfye  dahmd,  qtumvois  rtdtant  in  oMrwm 
Tempora  priscttm, 

HoR.Kb.lv.Od.1. 


FAIHEST  and  foremost  of  the  train,  thst  wA 
On  man*8  most  dignified  and  happiest  statOy 
Whether  we  name  thee  Charity  or  Love, 
Chief  grace  below^  and  all  in  all  above, 
Prosper,  (I  press  tl^ee  with  a  pow'rfnl  plaa,)  6 

A  task  I  venture  on,  impell'd  by  thee: 
O  never  seen  but  in  thy  bless'd  effects. 
Or  felt  but  in  the  soul  that  Heaven  selects ; 
Who  seeks  to  praise  thee,  and  to  make  thee  kaovn 
To  other  hearts,  ^ust  have  thee  in  liis  own.  IQ 

Come,  prompt  me  with  benevolent  desires, 
Teach  me  to  kindle  at  thy  gentle  firos. 
And  though  disgr&c'u  and  slighted,  to  redeem 
A  poet's  name,  by  making  thee  the  theme/ 

God,  working  ever  on  a  social  plan,  1^ 

By  various  tics  attaches  man  to  man : 
He  made  at  first,  though  firee  and  unconfin'd. 
One  man  the  common  father  of  the  kind ; 
Thai  ev*ry  tribe,  though  placed  as  he  sees  best* 
Where  seas  or  deserts  part  them  from  the  resty         M 


OHA^ITT.  lOr 

DiflTring  in  language,  manners,  or  in  &ce, 
Might  feel  themsehrcs  aBied  to  all  the  race. 
When  Cook — ^lamented,  and  with  tears  asjmt 
As  ever  mingled  with  heroick  dost, 
Steer'd  Britain's  oak  into  a  world  unknown,  95 

And  in  his  country's  glory  sought  his  own, 
Wherever  he  ^vmd  man,  to  natvre  tiue, 
The  rights  of  man  wore  sacred  in  his  view  *, 
He  soothed  with  gifts,  and  greeted  with  a  smitoi 
The  simple  native  of  the  new-found  isle  ;  30 

He  spum'd  the  wreteh  that  slighted  or  withstood 
The  tender  argument  of  kindnnl  blood, 
Nor  would  endure  that  any  shoidd  eontrol 
His  freebom  brethren  of  the  southern  pole. 

But  though  some  nobler  minds  a  law  reapoet,        95 
That  none  shall  with  impunity  neglect. 
In  baser  souls  unnimiber*d  evils  meet. 
To  thwart  its  influence  and  its  end  defeat. 
While  Cook  is  lor'd  for  savage  Kvts  he  sav'd, 
See  Cortez  odious  for  a  world  enslaved  *  40 

Where  wast  thou  then,  sweet  Charity !  where  tbmk 
Thou  tutelary  friend  of  helpless  men ; 
Wast  thou  in  monkish  celU  and  nunn'ries  found, 
Or  building  hospitals  on  English  ground  ? 
No. — ^Mammon  makes  the  world  his  legatee  45 

Through  fear,  not  love  :  and  Heav'n  aMiors  the  fee  • 
Wherever  found,  (and  all  men  need  thy  care,) 
Nor  age  nor  infency  could  find  thee  there. 
The  hand  that  slew  till  it  could  slay  no  more. 
Was  glued  to  the  sword  hilt  with  Indian  gore.  50 

Their  prince,  as  justly  seated  onliis  Uirono, 
As  vain  imperial  Philip  on  his  own, 
Trick'd  out  of  all  his  royalty  by  arf. 
That  stripped  him  bare,  and  broke  his  honest  heart, 
Died  by  the  sentence  of  a  shaven  priest,  55 

For  scorning  what  they  taught  him  to  detest.  ' 
How  dark  the  veil  that  intercepts  the  blaze 
Of  Heav'n's  mysterious  purposes  and  ways  •* 


IM  GifAiUTT. 

Crod  ftood  not^  tii^agb  ha  aeaia'cl  W  sUod,  aloof; 
And  at  this  hour  the  conqu'ror  foely  the  pfoof ;  60 

The  wreath  he  won  drew  down  an  instant  oursQ, 
The  fretting  pla^e  is  in  the  pnbhck  pur^a^ 
The  canker'd  spoil  corrodes  the  pining  state, 
8tarT*d  by  thrt  indolence  their  mines  create. 

O  could  their  aaoieBt  Incas  rise  again,  €B 

How  would  they  take  up  Israel's  taunting  strain  i 
Art  tho«  too  iall'n>  Iberia  ?  Do  we  see 
The  robber  and  the  murderer  weak  as  we  ? 
Thou,  that  hast  wasted  earth,  and  dar'd  deq>ise 
Alike  the  wrath  and  mercy  of  the  skies,  70 

Thy  pomp  is  in  the  grave,  tliy  glory  laid 
Lew  in  the  pits  thine  avarice  has  mado. 
We  come  with  joy  from  our  eternal  rest, 
To  see  th*  oppresscnr  in  his  turn  oppress'di 
Art  thou  the  god,  the  thunder  of  whose  hand  75 

Roll'd  over  all  our  desolated  land, 
Shook  principalities  and  kingdoms  down, 
And  made  the  mountains  trenible  at  his  ikow»  i 
The  sword  shall  light  ttpon  4hy  boasted  powers. 
And  waste  them,  as  thy  sword  has  wasted  oura.        80 
Tis  thus  Omnipotence  his  law  fuUUs, 
And  Vengeance  executes  what  Justice  wiUa. 

Again    the  band  of  commerce  was  dcsign'd 
T'  assooaate  all  the  branches  of  mankind.; 
And  if  a  boundless  plenty  be  the  robe,  85 

l*rade  is  the  golden  girdle  of  the  globe.     .     ,  , 
Wise  to  promote  whatever  end  he  means, 
God  opens  firuitful  nature's  various  scenes . 
Each  climate  needs  what  other  climes  produce, 
And  offers  something  to  the  gen'ral  use ;  90 

No  land  but  listens  to  the  common  call, 
And  in  return  receives  supply  from  all. 
This  genial  intercourse,  and  mutual  aid. 
Cheers  what- were  else  a  universal  shade. 
Calls  nature  from  her  ivy-mantled  den,  d5 

And  softens  human  rock-work  into  men. 


IP 


CHARITY.  M 

ln|reniott0  Art,  with  faef  tpt^Bbmho^f 
Steps  forth  to  fashion  and  refiae  thtf  raoe  ; 
Not  only  €Sht  necessity's  demuKt, 
But  ovorchargeti  her-capaciens  hand :  100 

Capricious  taste  itself  can  crave  no  inor* 
Tiran  she  soj^ilies  firora  her  alHrnn^fig  sioM . 
She  strikes  out  all  that  luxury  can  ask. 
And  gains  new  vigour  at  her  ftndless  taiiL 
Her*s  is  the  q>aciott8  arch,  the  shapely  spbe,  106 

The  painter's  pettei!,  and  t^  poet's  lyrt ; 
From  hor  the  canvass  borrows  light  and  ahafle. 
And  verse,  more  lastiAg,  hues  that  never  Me. 
•  She  guides  the  finger  o'er  the  danehig  keys^ 
Gives  difficulty  all  the  grace  of  ease,  110 

And  pours  a  torrent  of  sweet  netles  arouMl, 
Fait  as  the  thirsting  ear  eon  drink  the  sottsd. 

These  are  thegifis  of  Art,  and  Art  thrives  moil 
Where  Commerce  has  enrieh^d  the  htisy  iSotit. 
He  catches  all  improvements  m  his  flight,  118 

Spreads  foreign  wonders  in  his  eouiit^'*  nght. 
Imports  what  others  have  invented  well, 
And  stirs  his  own  to  match  them,  or  excel. 
*Tis  thus  reciprocatmg>  each  with  each, 
Alternately  the  nations  learn  aini  teach ;  129 

While  Providence  enjoini  to  ev'ry  soul 
A  union  with  the  vast  terraneous  whole. 

Heav'n  speed  the  canvass,  gallantly  unfttrTd 
To  furnish  and  accommodate  a  worki. 
To  give  the  pole  the  produce  of  the  sun,  195 

And  knit  th'  unsocial  climates  into  one. — 
Soft  airs  and  gentle  heavings  of  the  wave 
Impel  the  fleet,  whose  errand  is  to  save. 
To  succour  wasted  regions,  and  replace  *' 

The  smile  of  Opulence  in  Sorrow's  face.—  13U 

Let  nothing  adverse,  nothing  unforeseen. 
Impede  the  bark,  that  ploughs  the  deep  serene. 
Charg'd  with  a  freight,  transcending  in  its  worth 
Thd  gems  of  India,  Nature's  rarest  birth, 

Vol..  F  10 


110  CHARITY 

That  flios,  like  Gabriel  on  his  Lord's  commands,     Itt 

A  herald  of  God*s  love  to  pagan  lands. 

But  ah !  what  wish  can  prosper,  or  what  ffrayrt 

For  merchants  rich  in  cargoes  of  despair, 

Who  drive  a  loathsome  traffick,  gauge,  and  i^mui, 

And  buy  the  muscles  and  the  bones  of  man  ?  14C 

The  tender  ties  of  father,  husband,  friend, 

All  bonds  of  nature  in  that  moment  end  ; 

And  each  emkures,  while  yet  he  draws  his  breath, 

A  stroke  as  fatal  as  the  scythe  of  death. 

The  sable  warriour,  frantick  with  regret  H3 

Of  her  he  loves,  and  never  can  forget, 

Loses  in  tears  the  far-receding  shore, 

But  not  the  thought,  that  they  must  meet  no  more ; 

Depriv'd  of  her  and  freedom  at  a  blow. 

What  has  he  left,  that  he  can  yet  forego  ?  160 

Yes,  to  deep  sadness  sullenly  resigned. 

He  feels  his  body's  bondage  in  his  mind ; 

Puts  off  his  gen'rous  nature ;  and,  to  suit 

His  manners  with  his  fiite,  puts  on  the  brute. 

O  most  degrading  of  all  ills,  that  wait  155 

On  man,  a  mourner  in  his  best  estate  ! 
All  other  sorrows  Virtue  may  endure. 
And  find  submission  more  than  half  a  cure , 
Grief  is  itself  a  med'cino,  and  bcstow'd 
T*  improve  the  fortitude  that  bears  the  load,  100 

To  teach  the  wand'rer,  as  his  woes  increase. 
The  path  of  Wisdom,  all  whose  paths  are  peace  ; 
But  alav'ry ! — ^Virtue  dreads  it  as  her  grave : 
Patience  itself  is  meanness  in  a  slave  ; 
Or  if  the  will  and  sovereignty  of  God  1(S 

Bid  suffer  it  awhile,  and  kiss  the  rod, 
Wait  for  Iho  dawning  of  a  brighter  day, 
And  snap  the  chain  the  moment  when  you  may. 
Nature  imprints  upon  whate'er  we  see, 
That  hfli  a  heart  and  life  in  it,  Be  free :  J7G 

The  beasts  are  charter'd — neither  age  nor  force 
Can  quell  the  love  of  freedom  in  a  horse  • 


CHARITY.  Ill 

fie  breaks  tho  cord,  tiiat  held  him  at  tiie  rack ; 
And  conscious  of  an  unencumber'd  back,* 
Snnils  up  the  morning  air,  forgets  the  rein ;  175 

Loose  fly  his  forelock  and  hb  ample  mane ; 
Responsive  to  the  distant  nei^  he  neighs ; 
Hor  stops  tUl,  oTerloaping  all  delays, 
lie  finds  the  pasture  where  his  fellows  graze. 

Canst  thou,  and  honour'd  with  -a  Christian  name, 
Buy  what  is  woman  bom,  and  feel  no  riutme  ;  181 

Trade  in  the  blood  of  innocence,  and  plead 
Expedience  as  a  warrant  for  the.  deed  ? 
So  may  the  wolf,  whom  famine  has  made  bold 
To  quit  the  forest  and  inyade  the  fold :  185 

So  may  the  ruffian,  who  witl^  ghostly  glide. 
Dagger  m  hand,  steals  close  to  your  bedtnde ; 
Not  he,  but  his  emergence,  forc'd  the  door, 
He  found  it  inconvenient  to  be  poor. 
Has  God  then  giv'n  its  sweetness  to  the  cane,  ~     190 . 
Unless  his  laws  be  trampled  <m — ^in  vain  ? 
Built  a  oravo  world,  which  cannot  yet  subsisty 
Uttless  his  right  to  rule  it  be  dismissed  ? 
Impudent  blasphemy  !  So  Folly  pleads, 
And  Ay'rice  being  judge,  with  ease  succeeds.  196 

But  grant  the  plea,  and  let  it  stand  for  just. 
That  man  makes  roan  liis  prey,  because  he  wutst ; 
Still  there  is  room  for  pity  to  abate 
And  sooth  the  sorrows  of  so  sad  a  state. 
A  Briton  knows,  or  if  he  knows  it  not,  900 

The  scripture  plac'd  within  his  reach,  he  ought, 
Thac  souls  have  no  discriminating  hue, 
Alike  important  in  their  Maker's  view ; 
Tliat  none  are  free  from  blemish  since  the  fall. 
And  LoYe  divine  has  paid  one  price  for  alL  905 

Tlie  wretch  that  works  and  weeps  without  relief^ 
Has  one  that  notices  his  silent  grief. 
He,  from  whose  hands  alone  aU  pow*r  procdede^ 
Ranks  it?  abuse  among  the  foulest  deeds, 


iR  cHARmr. 

Coofliders  ati  injustice  with  a  frown  ;  SIC 

But  marks  the  man,  that  treads  his  fellow  down. 

Begone — the  whip  and  beU  in  that  hard  hniid 

Are  hateful  ensi^rns  of  usurped  command. 

Not  Mexico  eouid  purchase  kings  a  claim 

To  scourge  him,  weariness  his  only  bhune  ftlfi 

Remember,  Heav'n  has  an  ayenging  rod ; 

To  smtto  the  poor  is  treason  against  Grod. 

Trouble  is  grodguigly,  and  hardly  brook'di 

While  life's  snblimest  joys  are  overlook'd : 

We  wander  o'er  a  son-bumt  thirsty  soil,  890 

Murm'ring  and  weary  of  our  doily  toil, 

Fotget  t'  enjoy  the  palm-tree's  offer'd  shade, 

Or  taste  the  fountain  in  Ijhe  neighbouring  gtiiAt : 

Else  who  would  lose  that  had  the  pow'r  to  improro  . 

The  oceasion  of  transmuting  fear  to  love?  236 

0  'tis  a  godlike  privilege  to  save. 
And  he  that  scorns  it  is  himself  a  slave. 
Inform  his  mind ;  one  flash  of  heavenly  day 
Would  hoal  his  heart,  and  melt  his  chains  away. 

"  Beauty  for  a^ies"  is  a  gifl  indeed,  230 

And  slaves,  by  truth  enlarg'd,  are  'doubly  freed 

Then  would  he  say,  submissive  at  thy  feet, 

While  gratitude  and  love  made  service  sweet, 

My  dear  deliv'rer  ont  of  hopeless  night,  - 

Whose  bounty  bought  me  but  to  give  me  light,        S35 

1  was  a  bondman  on  my  native  plain, 

Sin  forg'd,  and  Ignorance  made  fiuft  the  chain , 

Thylips  have  shed  instruction  as  the  dew, 

Taught  me  what  path  to  i^un,  and  what  pursoe ; 

Farewell  my  former  joys  !  I  sigh  no  more  840 

For  Africa's  once  lov'd,  benighted  shore ; 

Serving  a  benefactor  I  am  free  ; 

At  my  best  home,,  if  not  ezil'd  fVom  thee. 

Some  men  make  gain  a  fountain,  whence  proceedi 

A  stream  iTf  lib'ral  and  heroick  deeds ;  215 

The  swell  of  pity,  not  to  be  confined 

Within  the  scanty  limits  of  the  mind. 


CHARITT.  U3 

Disdains  the  bank,  and  throws  the  golden  sandiiy 
A  rich  deposit  on  the  bord'ring  lands : 
These  have  an  ear  for  his  paternal  call,  250 

Who  makes  some  rich  for  the  supply  of  all ; 
God's  gift  with  pleasure  in  his  praise  employ ; 
And  T/iomton  is  familiar  with  the  joy. 
^  O  could  I  worship  aught  beneath  the  skies. 
That  earth  has  seen,  or  fancy  can  devise,  2G5 

Thine  altar,  sacred  Liberty,  should  stand, 
Built  by  no  mercenary  vulgar  hand. 
With  fragrant  turf,  and  flow'rs  as  wild  and  fair 
As  ever  dress'd  a  bank,  or  scented  summer  air. 
Duly  as  evpr  on  the  mountain's  height  ,260 

The  peep  of  morning  shed  a  dawning  light ; 
Again  when  Ev'ning  in  her  sober  vest 
Drew  the  gray  curtain  of  the  fading  west, 
My  soul  should  yield  thee  willing  thanks  and  praise, 
For  the  chief  blessings  of  my  &irest  days :  265 

But  that  were  sacrilege — ^praise  is  not  thine, 
But  his  who  gave  thee,  and  preserves  thee  mino  - 
Else  I  would  say,  and  as  I  spake  bid  fly 
A  captive  bird  into  the  boundless  sky. 
This  triple  realm  adores  thee — ^thou  art  come  270 

From  Sparta  hither,  and  art  here  at  home. 
Wo  feel  thy  force  still  active,  at  this  hour 
Enjoy  immunity  from  priesUy  pow'r. 
While  Conscience,  happier  than  in  ancient  years, 
Owns  no  superiour  but  the  God  she  fears.  275 

Propitious  spirit !  yet  expunge  a  wrong 
Thy  rights  have  suffered  and  our  land,  too  long. 
Teach  mercy  to  ten  thousand  hearts,  that  share 
The  fears  and  hopes  of  a  conunercial  care. 
Prisons  expect  the  wicked,  and  were  built  260 

To  bind  the  lawless,  and  to  punish  guilt ; 
But  shipwreck,  earthquake,  battle,  fire,  and  floodf 
Are  mighty  mischiefs,  not  to  be  withstood,; 
And  honest  Merit  stands  on  slipp'ry  ground 
Where  covert  g^jilc  and  artifice  abound  285 

10  ♦ 


114  CHARITY. 

Let  just  Restraint,  for  publick  pe&c^e  desigrnVI, 
Chain  up  the  wolres  and  tigers  of  mankind  ; 
The  foe  of  virtue  has  no  claim  to  thee, 
But  let  insolvent  Innocence  go  free. 

Patron  of  else  the  most  despis'd  of  men,  290 

Accept  the  tribute  of  a  stranger's  pen ; 
Verse,  like  the  laurel,  its  immortal  meed, 
Should  bo  the  guerdon  of  a  noble  deed ; 
I  may  alarm  thee,  but  I  fbar  the  sfaaroc, 
(Charity  chosen  as  my  theme  and  aim,)    *  295 

I  must  incur,  forgetting  Howard's  name. 
Bless'd  with  all  wealth  can  give  thee,  to  resign 
Joys  doubly  sweet  to  feelings  quick  as  thine, 
To  quit  the  bliss  thy  rural  scenes  bestow, 
To  seek  a  nobler  amidst  scenes  of  wo,  900 

To  traverse  seas,  range  kingdonjs,  and  bring  home, 
Not  the'proud  monuments  of  Greece  or  Rome, 
But  knowledge  such  as  only  dungeons  teach, 
And  only  sympathy  like  thine  could  reach  j 
That  grief,  sequester'd  from  the  publick  stage,        3Qft 
Might  smooth  her  feathers,  and  enjoy  her  cage .; 
Speaks  a  divine  ambition,  and  a  zeal. 
The  boldest  patriot  might  be  proud  to  feel. 
O  that  the  voice  of  clamour  and  debate. 
That  pleads  for  peace  till  it  disturbs  the  state,         310 
Were  hush'd  in  favour  of  thy  gen>ous  plea, 
The  poor  thy  cKents,  and  Heiiv'n*s  smile  thy  ffeo ! 
Philosophy,  tLat  does  not  dream  or  stray, 
Walks  arm  in  arm  with  Nature  all  his  way ; 
Compasses  earth,  dives  into  it,  ascends  315 

Whatever  step  Inquiry  recommends, 
Sees  planetary  wonders  smoothly  roll 
Round  other  systems  under  her  control. 
Drinks  wisdom  at  t{ie  milky  stream  of  light 
That  cheers  the  silent  journey  of  the  night,  320 

And  brings  at  his  return  a  bosom  charged 
With  rich  mstniction,  and  a  soul  enlarged 


CHARITY.  lia 

The  treasnr'd  sweets  of  tho  capaciooB  plan, 
That  Hear'n  spreads  wide  before  the  view  of  masi, 
AU  prompt  his  pleased  pursuit;  and  to  pursue  335 

Still  prompt  him  with  a  pleasure  always  new ; 
He  too  has  a  connecting  pow'r,  and  draw 
Man  to  the  centre  of  the  common  cause. 
Aiding  a  dubious  and  deficient  sight 
With  a  new  medium  and  a  purer  light.  39Q 

All  truth  is  precious,  if  not  all  diYine ;  ' 
And  what  dilates  the  pow'rs  must  needs  refine. 
He  reads  the  skies,  and,  watchiiig  et^ry  dumge,  ' 

Provides  the  fiicnhies  an  ample  range  ; 
And  wbis  mankind,  as  his  attempts  prevail,  335 

A  prouder  station  on  the  gen'ral  scale. 
But  Reason  still,  unless  divinely  taught, 
Whate'er  she  learns,  learns  nothing  as  she  oiught , 
The  lamp  of  revelation  only  shows, 
What  human  wisdom  cannot  but  oppose,  340 

That  man,  in  nature's  richest  mantle  clad. 
And  gracM,  with  all  philosophy  eai^add, 
Though  fair  without,  and  luminous  within* 
Is  still  the  progeny  and  heir  of  nn. 
Thus  taught,  down  faUs  the  plumage  of  hit  prid^   34& 
He  feels  his  need  of  an  unerring  guide, 
And  knows  that  fidling  he  shall  rise  no  mord. 
Unless  the  pow'r  that  bade  him  stand,  restore. 
This  is  indeed  philosophy  4  this  known 
Makes  wisdom,  worthy  of  the  name,  his  owb  ;         360 
And  without  this,  whatever  he  tliseuss. 
Whether  the  space  between  the  stars  and  us. 
Whether  he  measure  earth,  compute  the  sea. 
Weigh  sunbeams,  carve  a  fly,  or  split  a  flea ; 
The  solemn  trifler  with  his  boasted  ddll  355 

Toils  much,  and  is  a  solemn  trifler  still : 
BUad  was  he  born,  and  his  misguided  eyes 
Grown  dim  in  trifling  studies,  blind  he  dies. 
Self-knowledge  uvJj  leam'd,  of  eourse  implies 
The  rich  possession  of  a  nobler  prixe  :  dCf^ 


116  -  CHARITY 

For  self  to  self,  and  God  to  man  rcveai'd, 

(Two  themes  to  Nature's  eye  for  ever  scard,) 

Are  taught  by  rays,  that  fly  with  equal  pace 

From  the  same  centre  of  enlight'ninor  grace. 

Here  stay  thy  foot,  how  copious,  and  how  clear,      t)65 

Th'  o'erflowing  well  of  Charity  springs  here ! 

Hark  !  'tb  the  musick  of  a  thousand  rills, 

Some  through  the  groves,  some  down  the  sloping  hills, 

Winding  a  secret  or  an  open  course, 

And  all  supplied  from  an  eternal  source.  370 

'She  ties  of  nature  do  but  feebly  bind, 

And  Commerce  partially  reclaims  mankind ; 

Philosophy,  vdthout  his  heavenly  guide, 

May  blow  up  self-conceit,  and  nourish  pride, 

But,  while  his  province  is  the  reas'nmg  part,  375 

Has  still  a  veil  of  midnight  on  his  heart ; 

Tis  truth  divine,  exhibited  on  earth, 

Gives  Cliarity  her  being  and  her  birth. 

Suppose,  (when  thought  is  warm  and  fancy  flowfl, 
What  will  not  argUQient  sometimes  suppose  ?)         380 
An  isle  possess'd  by  creatures  of  our  kind. 
Endued  with  reason,  yet  by  nature  blind. 
Let  supposition  lend  her  aid  once  more, 
And  land  some  grave  optician  on  the  shore  : 
He  claps  Mb  lens,  if  haply  they  may  see,  385 

Close  to  the  part  where  vision  ought  to  be ; 
But  finds,  that  though  his  tubes  assist  the  si^ht, 
They  cannot  give  it,  or  make  darkness  light 
He  reads  wise  lectures,  &nd  describes  aloud 
A  sense  they  know  not,  to  the  wond'rufig  crowd      300 
He  talks  of  light,  and  the  prismatick  hues. 
As  men  of  depth  in  erudition  use  ; 
But  all  he  gains  for  his  harangue  is— Well,— 
What  motfstrous  lies  some  travellers  will  teU ! 

The  soul,  whose  sight  all-quick  tiing  grace  renew*, 
Takes  the  resemblance  of  tlie  good  she  views,  396 

As  diamonds  stripped  of  their  opaque  disguise, 
Reflect  the  noonday  glory  of  the  skies. 


J 


CHARITY.  m 

She  speikf  of  him,  litr  author,  gra^rdian,  finend, 

Whose  love  knew  no  beginning,  knoi^s  no  end,        400 

In  language  warm  as  all  that  love  inspires, 

And  in  the  glow  of  her  intense  desires, 

Pants  to  communicate  her  noble  fires. 

She  sees  a  woild  stark  blind  to  what  employs 

Her  eager  thought,  and  feeds  her  flowing  joys ;       405 

Though  wisdom  hail  them,  heedless  of  her  call, 

Flies  to  save  some,  and  feels  a  pang  for  all : 

Herself  as  weak  as  her  support  is  strong. 

She  feels  that  frailty  she  denied  so  Jong ; 

And,  from  a  knowledge  of  her  own  disease,  410 

Learns  to  compassionate  the  sick  she  sees. 

Here  see,  acquitted  of  all  vain  pretence. 

The  reign  of  genuine  Charity  commence. 

Though  scorn  repay  her  sympathetick  tears. 

She  still  is  kind  and  still  she  perseveres ;  415 

The  truth  she  loves  a  sightless  world  blaspheme, 

'Tis  childish  dotage,  a  delirious  dream. 

The  danger  they  discern  not,  they  deny  ; 

Laugh  at  their  only  remedy,  and  die. 

But  still  a  soul  thus  touched  can  never  cease,  430 

Whoever  threatens  war,  to  speak  ai  peace. 

Pore  in  her  aim,  and  in  her  temper  ^lild, 

Her  wisdom  seems  the  weakness  of  a  child : 

Slie  makes  excuses  where  she  might  condemn, 

Revil'd  by  those  that  hate  her,  pr&ys  for  them ;       425 

Suspicion  lurks  not  in  her  artless  breast, 

The  worst  suggested,  she  believes  the  best ; 

Not  so<m  provok'd,  however  stung  and  teaz*d. 

And,  if  perhaps  made  angry,  soo>\  appeas'd  ;• 

She  rather  waves  than  will  dispute  her  Tight,  430 

And  injured,  m;^es  forgiveness  her  delight. 

Skich  was  t^  portrait  an  apostle  drew, 
The  bright  original  was  one  ho  knew  ; 
Heav'n  held  his  hand,  the  likeness  must  be  true. 

When  one,  that  holds  communion  with  the  skies. 
Has  lill'd  his  urn  where  these  pure  waters  rise,        43$ 


U8  CHARITY. 

And  once  moro  mingles  with  us  meaner  things, 

Tw  e'en  as  if  an  angel  shook  his  wings ; 

Immortal  fragrance  fills  the  circuit  wide, 

That  tells  us  whence  his  treasures  are  supplied.      440 

So  when  a  ship,  well  freighted  wiUi  the  stores 

The  Sun  matures  on  India's  spicy  shores, 

Has  dropp'd  her  anchor,  and  her  canrass  &aVd, 

In  some  safe  haven  of  our  western  world, 

'Twere  vain  inquiry  to  what  port  she  went,  445 

The  gale  informs  us,  laden  with  the  scent. 

Some  sock,  when  queasjc  conscience  has  its  qualms, 
To  lull  the  painful  malady  with  alms  ; 
But  charity  not  feign'd,  intends  alone 
Another's  good — theirs'  centres  in  their  own ;  450 

And  too  short-liv'd  to  reach  the  realms  of  pcaxse, 
Must  cease  for  ever  when  the  poor  shall  cease. 
Flavia.,  most  tender  of  her  own  good  name. 
Is  rather  careless  of  her  sister's  fame  :. 
Her  superfluity  the  poor  supplies,  455 

But,  if  she  touch  a  character,  it  dies. 
The  seeming  virtue  weigh 'd  against  the  vice. 
She  deems  all  safe,  for  she  has  paid  the  price : 
No  charity  but  alms  ought  values  she. 
Except  in  porcelaip  on  her  mantle-tree.  460 

How  many  deeds,  with  which  the  world  has  rung, 
From  Pride,  in  league  with  Ignorance,  have  sprung  ! 
But  God  o'errules  all  human  follies  still, 
And  bends  the  tough  malerials  to  his  will. 
A  conflagration  or  a  wintry  flood,  4C5 

Has  lefl  some  hundreds  without  home  or  food  | 
Extravagajice  and  Av'rice  sliall  subscribe. 
While  fame  and  self-complacence  ore  the  brilie. 
The  brief  proclaim'd,  it  visits  ev'ry  pew. 
But  first  the  squure's  a  compliment  but  due  y-  ^0 

With  slow  deUberation  he  unties 
His  glitt'ring  purse,  that  envy  of  all  eyes. 
And,  while  the  clerk  just  puzzles  out  the  psthiiy 
Slides  guinea  behind  guUiea  in  his  palm ; 


CHARITY.  !!• 

Till  finding)  wbat  he  might  have  fbtmd  before,        475 

A  smaller  piece  amidfft  the  preciotid  store, 

Pii|ch*d  close  between  his  finger  and  his  thnmb, 

He  half  exhibits  and  then  drops  the  snm. 

Gold  to  be  sitre ! — ^Throughout  the  town  'tis  told 

How  the  good  squire  gives  never  less  than  gold.      480 

From  motives  such  as  his,  though  not  the  best, 

Springs  in  duo  time  stipply  for  the  distressed ; 

Not  less  effbctual  than  what  love  bestows, 

Except  that  office  clips  it  as  it  goes. 

Bat  lest  I  seem  to  sin  against  a  firiend,  485 

And  wound  the  grace  I  meaii  to  recommend, 
(Though  vice  derided  with  a  just  design 
Implies  lio  trespass  against  love  divine,) 
Once  more  I  would  adopt  the  graver  style, 
.A  teacher  should  be  sparing  of  bis  smile,'  490 

Unless  a  love  of  virtue  light  the  flame, 
Satire  is,lnoro  than  tho^  he  brands,  to  blame ; 
He  hides  behind  a  magisterial  air 
His  own  ofiences,  and  strips  others'  bare  t 
Afiects  indeed  a  most  humane  concern,  495 

Tliat  men,  if  gently  tutor*d,  will  not  learn  ; 
The  muUsh  Folly,  not  to  be  reclaim'd 
By  softer  methods,  must  be'  made  ashtm'd  : 
But,  (I  might  instance  in  St.  Patrick^ doah,) 
Too  often  rails  to.  gratify  his  spleen.  500 

Most  sat'rists  are  indeed  a  publick  scourge : 
Their  mildest  physick  is  a  fiirricr's  purge  ; 
Their  acid  temper  turns,  as  soon  as  stirr'd. 
The  milk  of  their  good  purpose  all  to  curd. 
Their  zeal  begotten,  as  their  works  rehearse:  505 

By  lean  despair  upon  an  empty  purse, 
The  wild  assassins  start  into  the  Mrect, 
Prepar'd  to  poniard  whomsoc'er  they  meet. 
No  skill  in  swordmanship,  however  just. 
Can  be  secure  against  a  madman's  thrust :  r>10 

And  even  Virtue,  so  unfairly  match'(f,  * 

Although  immortal,  may  be  prick'd  or  scrsilch'd 


i 


m  CHARITY. 

When  Seaadal  baa  new-minted  an  old  fie, 
Or  taz'd  invention  for  a  fresh  suppty, 
Til  caU'd  a  satire,  end  the  world  appean  51f 

Gatfa'ring  around  it  with  erected  ears : 
A  thonsand  names  are  tose'd  into  tho  erowd ; 
Some  whii^er'd  softly,  and  some  twancf *d  ahmd  ; 
Just  as  the  ii^iienee  of  an  autboor's  brain 
Suggests  it  safe  or  dangerous  to  be  plain-^  G8D 

Strange  ?  how  the  frequent  interjected  dash 
Quickens  a  market,  and  helps  off  the  trash  ^ 
Th'  important  letters  that  include  the  rest, 
Serve  as  a  key  to  thoso  thAit  are  suppress'd ; 
Conjecture  gripes  the  victims  in  his  paWy  635 

The  world  is  charm'd,  and  Scrib  escapes  tbs  kw. 
So,  when  the  cold  damp  shades  of  nl^  piBV8al« . 
Worms  may  be  caught  by  either  head  or  tail } 
Forcibly  drawn  from  many  a  close  Teeess, 
They  meet  with  little  pity,  no  redress ;  G9^ 

Plung'd  in  the  stream,  they  ledge  open  ^f9  sdod^ 
7ood  for  the  ^uniah'd  ravers  of  the  flood. 
All  zeal  for  a  reform,  that  gives  oSene0 
To  peace  and  eharity,  is  mere  pfetence ; 
A  bold  remark,  but  which  if  weH  applied,  £39 

Would  humble  unmy  a  tow*ring  poet's  pricku 
Perhaps  the  raaflb»was  in  a  sportive  fit^ 
And  had  no  other  play  place  for  his  wit ; 
Perhaps  enchanted  with  the  love  of  fome, 
Ho  sought  the  jewel  in  his  neighbour's  sliamo ;       540' 
Perhaps — whatever  end  he  might  pursue, 
The  cause  of  virtue  could  not  be  hts  view. 
At  ev'ry  str<^e  wit  flashes  in  our  eyes  j 
Tlie  turns  are  quick,  the  polish'd  points  suipriso^ 
But  shine  with  cruel  and  tremendous  charms,  MS 

That,  while  they  ploane,  possess  us  with  alarms ; 
So  have  I  seen,  (and  hastened  to  tlie  sight 
On  all  the  wings  of  holiday  delight,) 
Wfiero  stands  that  monument  of  ancient  pow'r, 
Nam'd  with  emphatick  dignity,  the  Tmv'r,  550. 


? 


CHAMITY.  m 

GoB%laflbtft«y  iwpnis,  and  ptatoK  fioi  lai  Miagf 
in  starry  forms  disposed  upon  the  waU  ; 
We  wonder,  as  wo  gwn^  ctaad  beHow, 
That  brass  and  stool  should  mak^  so  fine  a  shaw| 
Bat  thoiigh  we  praise  Ui'  ezaet  desifpnei;'*  skiB)       66S 
Account  them  hnplemeats  of  mischief  stilU 

No  works  riML^  find  aoeepUnce  'm  thai  d^, 
When  all  disguises  shall  be  xoAt  awaj^ 
That  square  not  tnsly  with  tiie  Soc^tve  phOf 
Nor  spring  from  love  to  Crod,  or  leve  to  IIIMI«  66$ 

As  he  ordains  things  sordid  in  their  bifth 
70  be  resolved  into  their  parent  earth ; 
And  then^h  the  cool  shsti  seek  snpefiouf  eibs, 
Whatever  this  wosld  produces  it  absorbs  i 
So  self  starteBOthini^^  but  ytrhtA  tendtf  apeoe  XW 

Home  lo  the  goal,  whsre  it  be^^  the  faoe. 
Such  as  our  motire  i%  enr  aim  mast  be ) 
If  this  be  son^y  that  can  a»*er  b9  6ee  9 
If  self  employ  m^  whatse*^  is  wtong^ 
We  irMifjr  that ssU;  not  him  we  ought;  680 

Such  yirUies  had  n^  piibre  their  own  irew«rd| 
The  judge  of  all  men  ewes  theffu  bo  regard. 
True  Charity^  a  pltotdtrinelj  nurs*d^ 
Fed  by  the  bve  fi?om  whioh  it  rose  at  firsl^ 
Thrives  against  {^epo,  and  in  the  rudest  jiepiiei         S9S 
Storms  but  enliven  itm  nnftding  gr9«n  i 
£siib*rant  is  the  shadow  it  ftuppUes^ 
Its  fruit  on  earth,  its 'girowlh  above  ths'shiesr 
To  lodL  at  him  who  form'd  nsand  redeem'd» 
So  glorious  now,  though  once  so  disestoem'd,         580 
To  see  a  God  stretch  forth  his  human  hand, 
T*  uphold  thd  boundless  socoies  of  his  eommand ; 
To  recollect  thai  in  a  fena  like  ours, 
He  bruis'd  betieath  bM  feet  th'  infernal  pow'rs^ 
Captivity  led  captive,  rose  to  claim  68i 

The  wreath  ho  won  so  dearly  in  our  name ; 
That,  throned  above  all  height*  ho  condeacends 
To  call  the  few  that  trust  in  him  his  firicnds ; 

Vol.  I.  11 


m  OHAIUTY. 

That  m  tlw  hMV^n  of  he«v*in,  that  spaoe  ht  i 

Too  Bcaaty  for  th*  exertion  of  hiB  beunsy  M 

And  shines  as  if  impatient  to  bestoiw 

Life  and  a  kingdom  upon  worms  beloi7 ; 

Tiiat  sight  imparts  a  never-dying  iamei 

Though  feeble  in  degree,  in  kind  the  aama* 

Like  him  the  soul  thiis  kindled  from  above  6fift 

Spreads  wide  her  arms  of  universal  love : 

And,  still  enlarged  as  she  receives  the  grace, 

Includes  creation  in  her  close  embrace. 

Behold  a  christian !— and  without  the  fires 

The  founder  of  that  name  alone  inspirM,  600 

Though  all  accomplishment,  aH  knowledge  mMt 

To  make  the  shining  prodigy  complete, 

Whoever  boasts  that  name— behold  a  cheat  t 

Were  love,  in  these  the  world's  last  doting  years 

Asfrequent  as  the  want  of  it  appears,  COS 

The  churches  warm'd,  they  would  no  Imiger  hold 

Such  frozen  figures,  stiff  as  they  are  cold ; 

Relenting  forms  would  lose  their  pow*r,  or  cease  ; 

And  e'en  the  dipp'd  and  sprinkled  live  in  peace :    - 

Each  heart  would  quit  its  prison  m  the  breast,         610 

And  flow  in  free  communion  with  the  rest. 

The  statesman,  skilled  in  projects  dark  and  deep, 

Mi^ht  bum  his  useless  Machiavel,  ai^  sle<^  ; 

His  budget  often  fill'd,  yet  always  poor, 

Might  swing  at  ease  behind  his  study. door,  G15 

No  longer  prey  upon  our  annual  rents, 

Or  scare  the  nation  with  its  big  contents . 

Disbanded  legions  freely  might  depart, 

And  slaying  man  would  cease  to  be  an  art. 

No  learned  disputants  would  take  the  field,  690 

Sure  not  to  conquer,  and  sure  not  to  yk^d ; 

Both  sides  decciv'd,  if  rightly  understood, 

Pelting  each  other  for  the  publick  good. 

Did  charity  prevail,  the  press  would  prove 

A  vehicle  of  virtue,  tnith,  and  love ;  035 


CHARITY. 
And  I  migiit  spare  myielf  the  painf  to  tfaow 
What  few  can  learn,  and  all  suppose  they  know. 
Thus  have  I  sought  to  grace  a  serious  lay 
With  many  a  wild,  indeed,  but  flow'ry  spray, 
In  hopes  to  gain  what  else  I  must  have  lost, 
Th'  attention  pleasure  has  so  much  engrossed. 
But  if  unhappily  deceivM  I  dream, 
And  prove  too  weak  for  so  divine  a  theme, 
Let  Charity  forgive  me  a  mistake. 
That  zeal,  not  vanity,  has  (^hanc'd  to  make. 
And  spare  the  poet  for  his  subject's  sike. 


630 


63£ 


CONVERSATION. 


Aom  neqfu  me  tanlum  venienlis  siMktf  atistri, 
Nee  fiercussajimcantjluctu  torn  lUora,  nee  tpim 
8axosa»  inter  deeurrantjktmina  voiles, 

ViRG.  Eel.  5. 


THOUGH  nature  weigh  <rar  talents,  and  diipeMt 
To  ey*rj  man  his  modicum  of  senfle, 
And  Conversation  in  its  better  part 
Maj  be  esteem'd  a  gift,  and  not  an  art, 
fet  much  depends,  as  in  the  tiller's  toil, 
On  culture  and  the  sowing  of  the  soil. 
Words  loam'd  by  rote  a  parrot  may  reheaise. 
But  talking  is  not  always  to  conTorse ; 
Not  more  distinct  fVom  harmony  divine, 
The  constant  creaking  of  a  country  sign. 
As  Alphabets  in  ivory  employ. 
Hour  after  hour,  the  yet  unlettered  boy, 
Sorting  and  puzzling  with  a  deal  of  glee 
TIioso  seeds  of  science,  call«)d  his  A  B  C ; 
So  language  in  the  moutlis  of  the  adult. 
Witness  its  insignificant  result. 
Too  often  proves  an  imjslcment  of  play, 
A  toy  to  sport  with,  and  pass  time  away. 
Collect  at  evening  what  the  day  brought  forth, 
Compress  the  sum  into  its  solid  worth, 


10 


15 


20 


=?3«gfl^ 


CONVERSATION.  125 

And  if  it  weigh  the  importance  of  a  fly, 
The  scales  are  false,  or  algebra  a  lie, 
Sacred  interpreter  of  human  thought, 
How  few  respect  or  use  thee  as  they  ought ! 
But  all  shall  give  account  of  ev*ry  wrong,  85 

Who  dare  dishonour  or  defile  the  tongue  ', 
Who  prostitute  it  in  the  cause  of  vice, 
Or  sell  their  glory  at  the  market  price ; 
Who  vote  for  hire,  or  point  it  with  lampoon, 
The  dear-bought  placeman,  and  the  cheap  bnffixm.   90 

There  Is  a  prurience  in  the  speech  of  some. 
Wrath  stays  him,  or  else  God  would  strike  them  dumb 
His  wise  forbearance  has  their  end  in  view, 
They  fill  their  measure,  and  receive  their  due. 
The  heathen  lawgivers  of  ancient  days,  35 

I^unes  almost  worthy  of  a  Christian's  praise. 
Would  drive  them  forth  from  the  resort  of  men, 
And  shut  up  8v*ry  sat3rr  in  his  den. 
0  come  Tiot  ye  near  innocence  and  truth. 
Ye  worms  that  eat  into  the  bud  of  youth  ;  40 

Infectious  as  impure,  your  blighting  pow*r 
Taints  in  its  rudiments  the  promised  flower ; 
Its  odour  perish'd,  and  its  charming  hue, 
Thenceforth  His  hateful,  for  it  smells  of  you. 
Not  e'en  the  vigorous  and  headlong  rage  45 

Of  adolescence,  or  a  firmer  age, 
Affords  a  plea  allowable  or  just, 
For  making  speech  the  pamperer  of  lust ; 
But  when  the  breath  of  age  commits  the  fault, 
'Tig  nauseous  as  the  vapour  of  a  vault.  50 

So  wither'd  stumps  disgrace  the  sylvan  scene, 
No  loi^ger  fruitful,  and  no  longer  green ; 
The  sapless  wood,  divested  of  the  bark, 
Grows  fungous,  and  takes  fire  at  every  spark. 

Oaths  terminate,  as  Paul  observes,  all  s^ife —    55 
Some  men  have  surely  then  a  peaceful  life : 
Whatever  subject  occupy  discourse, 
The  feats  of  Vestris,  or  the  naval  force, 
11  • 


126  COKVERSATION. 

Asseveration  blustering  in  your  iaco 

Makes  contradiction  such  a  hopeless  cas« :  ^ 

In  ev'ry  tale  they  tell,  or  false,  or  true, 

Well  known,  or  such  as  no  man  ever  knew^ 

They  fix  attention,  heedless  of  your  pain, 

With  oaths  like  rivets  forc'd  into  the  brain ; 

And  e'en  when  sober  truth  prevails  throughontt        C& 

They  swear  it,  till  affirmance  breeds  a  doi^t^ 

A  Persian,  humble  servant  of  the  mmj 

Who,  though  devout,  yet  bigotry  had  njone. 

Hearing  a  lawyer,  grave  i^  his  addregs^ 

With  adjurations  ev'ry  word  impre«9>  7!l> 

Suppos'd  the  man  a  bishop,  or  at  leasts 

God's  name  so  much  upon  his  lips,  a  priest ! 

Bow'd  at  the  close  with  all  his  graceful  airs. 

And  begg'd  an  int'rest  in  his  frequent  pray'ra. 

Go  quit  the  rank  to  which  ye  stood  pre£^'d,        75 
Henceforth  associate  in  one  com^mon  herd  > 
Religion,  virtue,  reason,  common  aemie, 
Pronounce  your  human  form  a  false  piotenc.e  ; 
A  mere  disguise,  in  which  a  devil  lurks;, 
Who  yet  betrays  his  secret  by  his  worka.   .  80 

.Te  pow'rs  who  rule  the  tongue^  if  such  th^i:©  WB* 
And  make  colloquial  happiness  your  carei 
Preserve  me  from  the  thing  I  dread  and  h^, 
A  duel  in  the  form  of  a  debate, 

The  clash  of  arguments  and  jar  of  words,  B5 

Worse  than  the  mortal  brunt  of  rival  swords, 
Decide  no  question  with  their  tedious  lengthy 
(For  opposition  gives  opinion  strength) 
Divert  the  champions  prodigal  of  breath. 
And  put  the  peaceably  dispos'd  to  death.  96 

0  thwart  me  not,  Sir  Soph,  at  ev*ry  turn. 
Nor  carp  at  ev'ry  flaw  you  may  discern  ; 
Though  syllogisms  hang  not  on  my  tongue, 

1  am  not  surely  always  in  the  wrong : 

Tis  hard  if  all  is  felse  that  I  advance,  ^' 

k  fool  must  now  and  then  be  right  by  chance. 


Not  hH  thtt  freedom  of  disMnt  1  blame ; 

No— there  I  grwnt  the  privilege  I  claim. 

A  disputable  point,  i«  no  man*t  ground  ; 

Rove  where  you  please,  *tia  common  all  arouad.      100 

Discourse  may  want  an  animated — ^No, 

To  brush  the  surfi^ce,  and  to  make  it  flow } 

But  still  remeo^ier,  if  you  mean  to  please, 

To  press  your  point  with  modesty  and  eaw^ 

The  mark  at  which  my  justier  aim  I  take,  105 

Is  contradictioii  for  its  own  deac  sake» 

Set  jrouf  opinion  at  whatmrer  pitchy 

Knots  and  impediments  make  something  Utch  , 

Adopt  his  own,  tis  equally  in  vain, 

Your  thread  of  argument  is  snapped  again  ]  ^^^ 

The  wrangler,  rather  than  accord  with  you, 

Witi  judge  himself  deceiv'd»  and  prove  it  top. 

Vociferated  logick  kills  me  quite, 

A  noisy  man  is  always  in  the  rights 

I  twirl  my  thumbs*  &11  back  into  xny  cbaici  115 

Fix  on  the  wainscoat  a  distressful  stare. 

And  wlien  I  hope  his  blunders  are  all  out. 

Reply  discreetly — ^To  be  sure — ^no  doubt  I 

DubivwLs  is  such  a  scrupulous  good  man — 

Yes — ^you  may  catch  him  tripping,  if  you  cad.         H^ 

He  would  not  with  a  peremptory  tone,. 

Assert  the  nose  upon  his  face  )m  own ; 

With  hesitation  admirably  slaw. 

He  humbly  hop^&— pcesumes-r-it  may  be  80. 

His  evidence,  if  he  were  call'd  by  law  135 

To  swear  to  sqiqa  eniormity  he  saw, 

For  want  of  prominence  and  just  relief, 

Woqld  hang  an  honest  man,  and  save  a  thief 

Through  constant  dread  of  giving  truth  ofiencei 

He  ties  up  all  his  liearers  in  suspense  ;  139 

Knows  what  he  knows,  as  if  he  knew  it  not ; 

Wkat  >e  remombors,  seems  to  have  forgot  *. 

His  sole  opinion,  whatsoever  beCall, 

Centering  at  lafit  in  having  none  at  all 


"!!:? 


1528  CONVERSATION. 

Yety  though  ho  tetuse  and  balk  yoar  Ust'nin^  ear,      185 

He  makes  one  osefUl  point  exceeding  clear ; 

However  ingenious  on  his  darling  th^me 

A  sceptick  in  philosophy  may  seem, 

Reduc'd  to  practice,  his  beloved  role 

Would  only  prove  him  a  consummate  fbbl:  140 

Useless  in  him  alike  both  brain  and  speech. 

Fate  having  placM  all  truth  above  his  reach, 

His  ambiguities  his  total  sum, 

He  might  as  well  be  blind,  and  deaf,  and  dumb. 

Whore  men  of  judgment  creep  and  ieel  their  way,  145 

The  positive  pronounce  without  dismay ; 

Their  want  of  light  and  intellect  supplied 

By  sparks  absurdity  strikes  out  of  pride. 

Without  the  means  of  knowing  right  from  wrong. 

They  always  are  decisive,  clear,  and  strong;  150  * 

Where  others  toil  with  philosophick  force, 

Their  nimble  nonsense  takes  a  shqrter  course ; 

Flings  at  your  head  conviction^  in  the  limip, 

And  gains  remote  conclusions  at  a  jump : 

Their  own  defect  invisible  to  them,  155 

Seen  in  another,  they  at  once  condemn ; 

And,  though  self-idolized  in  ev'ry  case, 

Hate  their  own  likeness  in  a  brother's  flice. 

The  cause  is  plain,  and  not  to  be  denied. 

The  proud  are  always  most  provok'd  by  pride,         169 

Few  competitions  but  engender  spite ; 

And  those  the  most,  where  neither  has  a  right. 

TJie  point  of  honour  has  been  deem'd  of  use,       '        ^ 
To  teach  good  manners  and  to  ctirb  abuse  ; 
Admit  it  true,  the  consequence  is  clear,  ife 

Our  polish 'd  manners  are  a  ma£k  we  wear,  » 

And,  at  the  bottom  barb'rous  still  and  rude, 
We  are  restrain'd,  indeed,  but  not  subdued.  '    '  * 

The  very  remedy,  however  sure, 

Springs  from  the  mischief  it  intends  to  cure,  tW' 

And  savage  in  its  principle  appears, 
Tried  as  it  sliculd  be.  hv  llio  fruit  it  bears 


t  " — 


COI«V£RSATION,  m 

Tm  hard,  indeed  if  natluiig  will  dfifend 

Mankind  from  quarieln  but  their  fatal  end  ^ 
That  now  and  then  -a.  hero  ni\»t  decease,  175 

That  the  surviying  WQ^id  mAjr  live  in  peaccw 
'    Pevhaps  at  last  close  scrutiny  maj  show 
The  practice  dastardly^  a^d  mean,  and  low  ^ 
That  men  engage  in  it  compeird  by  fozcc^ 
And  fear,  not  courage,  i3  its.  proper  toureo,  180 

The  fear  of  tyrant  custQm«  wd  the  fbta 
Lefll  fops  should  cen«ure  us>  and  fools  should  |Nie«r. 
At  least  to  trample  qn  our  Maker's  lawSt 
And  hazard  life  for  aay  or  no  oausp, 
To  rush  into  a  fi^'d  fiteroal  state  185 

'   Out  of  the  very  |ianves  pf  rage  and  hp-t^i. 
Of  send  another  shiv'ring  to  the  bar 
With  all  the  guilt  of  such  unnatural  war» 
Whatever  Use  may  iJtfge,  or  Honour  plcod^ 
On  Reason*s  verdict  if  ^  ipa^m^'«  floitrfl*  jU** 

Am  I  to  set  my  life  upon  a  throw^ 
Becuise  a  bear  is  rude,  and  surly  ?    ^o— 
A  moral,  sensible,  and  well-bred  man 
Will  not  affiront  mo  y  ^x^  no  other  can.    " 
Were  I  empower'd  to  regulate  the  lists,  lOp 

They  should  encounter  with  well-loaded  fists  ' 
A  Trojan  combat  would  be  somethmg  r^jv, 
Let  Dares  beat  Entelliis  black  ana  biuo  ', 
Then  each  might  show,  to  his  atimu-mg  ft'}ci;idf?  * 
In  honourable  bunips  his  rich  amends,  'JOi) 

And  carry  in  cpntusions  of  his  skuD,  * 

A  n^tisfactory  receipt"  in  full 
A  story,  in  which  native  humour  reigns, 

Is  oOLcn  useful,  always  entertains : 

A  graver  fact,  enlisted  on  your  side,  205 

May  furnish  illusiratiou,  well  applied ; 

Bui  sedentary  weavers  of  long  talcs 

Give  me  the  fidgets,  and  my  patience  faiLi. 

Tis  tlie  most  asinine  employ  on  earth, 

To  he3ur  thoin  tell  of  parentage  and  birt}i,  210 


laa  CONVERSATION. 

And  echo  conyerAitions,4ulI  and  dry, 

Embellished  with — He  said,  and  So  said  /. 

At  ey'rj  intenriew  their  route  the  same, 

The  repetition  mokes  attention  lame : 

We  bustle  up  with  unsuccessful  speed,  S15 

And  in  the  saddest  part  cry — DroU  indeed 

The  path  of  narrative  with  care  pursue. 

Still  making  probability  your  clew ; 

On  all  the  vestiges  of  truth  attend, 

And  let  them  guide  you  to  a  decent  end.  820 

Of  all  ambitions  man  may  entertain  j 

The  worst,  that  can  invade  a  sickly  brain, 

Is  that,  which  angles  hourly  for  surprise. 

And  baits  its  hook  with  prodigies  and  lies. 

Credulous  infancy,  or  age  as  weak,  7SS 

Are  fittest  auditors  for  such  to  seek. 

Who  to  please  others  will  themselves  disgrace, 

Tet  please  not,  but  affront  you  to  your  face. 

A  great  retailer  of  this  curious  ware 

Having  unloaded  and  made  many  stare,  830 

Can  this  be  tru^  ? — an  arch  observer  cries, 

Yes,  (rather  mov*d)  I  saw  it  with  these  eyeB ; 

Sir !  I  believe  it  on  that  ground  alone ; 

[  could  not,  had  I  seen  it  with  my  own. 

A  tale  should  be  judicious,  clear,  succinct ;  235 

The  language  plain,  and  incidents  well  linked , 
Tell  not  as  new  what  ev'ry  body  knows. 
And,  new  or  old,  still  hasten  to  a  close  ; 
There,  cent*Bing  in  a  focus  round  and  neat. 
Let  all  your  rays  of  information  meet.  840 

What  neither  yields  us  profit  nor  delight 
Is  like  a  nurse's  lullaby  at  night ; 
Guy,  Earl  of  Warwick  and  fair  Eleanor, 
Or  giant-killing  Jack,  would  please  mo  more. 

The  pipe,  with  solemn  interposing  puff,  245 

Makes  half  a  sentence  at  a  time  enough ; 
The  dozing  sages  drop  the  drowsy  strain, 
Then  pause,  and  puff" — and  speak,  and  pause  again. 


CONVERSATION.  m 

Bach  often,  like  the  tobe  they  bo  admirOy 
Important  triilers !  have  more  smoke  than  fire.        fl50 
Pemicione  weed  i  whose  sceat  the  fair  annoys ; 
Unfriendly  to  society's  chief  joys, 
Thy  worst  effect  is  banishing  for  hours 
The  sex,  whose  presence  civilizes  ours : 
Thou  art  indeed  the  drug  a  gord'ner  wants,  255 

To  poison  vennin  that  iniest  his  plants  ; 
But  are  we  so  to  wit  and  beauty  blind, 
As  to  despiso  the  glory  of  our  kind. 
And  show  the  softest  minds  and  fairest  ibrms 
As  little  mercy,  as  he  grubs  and  woiyns  ?  260 

They  dare  not  .wait  the  riotous  abuse, 
Thy  thirst-creating  steams  at  length  produce. 
When  wine  has  giv*n  indecent  language  birth, 
And  forc'd  the  floodgates  of  licentious  mirth ; 
For  sea-born  Venus  her  attachment  shows  263 

Still  to  that  element  from  which  she  rQse, 
And  with  a  quiet,  which  no  fumes  disturb, 
Sips  meek  infusions  of  a  milder  herb.. 

Th*  emphatick  speaker  dearly  loves  t'  oppose. 
In  contact  inconvenient,  nose  to  nose,  270 

As  if  the  gnomon  on  his  neighbour's  phiz,  '  ^ 

Totich*d  with  a  magnet  had  attracted  his. 
His  whiq)er'd  theme,  dilated  and  at  large. 
Proves  after  all  a  wind-gun's  airy  charge, 
An  extract  of  his  diary — ^no  more,  275 

A  tasteless  journal  of  the  day  before. 
Ho  walked  abroad,  o'ertaken  in  the  rain, 
CaH'd  on  a  friend,  drank  tea,  fetepp'd  home  agam, 
Resom'd  his  purpose,  had  a  world  of  talk 
With  one  he  stumbled  on,  and  lost  his  walk.  280 

I  uitemipt  him  with  a  8ud<^en  bow, 
Adieu,  dear  Sir,  lest  you  should  lose  it  now. 

I  cannot  talk  with  civet  in  the  room, 
A  fine  puss-gentleman  that's  all  perfume  ; 
The  sight's  enough — ^no  need  to  smell  a  beau—      288 
Who  thiusts  his  nose  into  a  raree  show  ? 


K.^.__,; 


m  CX>NVEnSATKMf. 

His  odoriferoui  ftttempts  to  please 

Perhaps  might  pro^>er  with  «  swarm  of  hcwi  j 

But  we  that  stake  no  honey,  though  we  stteg^ 

Poets  are  sometimes  apt  to  maul  the  tkbigi  Mf 

Tis  wrong  to  bring  into  a  mix'4  resort, 

What  make  some  sick,  and  otlters  k  la  m»H4 

An  argument  of  eogenee,  we  may  Say, 

Why  such  aone  whcnM  keep  himself  swi^. 

A  graver  coxcomb  we  itiay  aomeUmes  swe^  Ml 

Quito  as  absurd,  though  not  so  light  as  he  t 
A  shallow  brain  behind  a  deiiette  madf  ^     - 
An  oracle  within  an  empty  cai^^ 
The  solemn,  fop ;  signifietot  and  bndg«  ; 
A  fool  with  judges,  amongst  feels  a  }ndg#)  90$ 

He  says  but  Httle,  and  that  litHe  said 
Owes  all  its'weight,  Bke  loaded  «ee,  to  iMdi 
His  wit  invites  you  by  his  h>ek«  to  Cottle, 
But  when  you  knock  it  nevtr  is  At  hMM) 
Tis  like  a  parcel  sent  yo^  t^  the^ste^^  .    MS 

Some  handsome  present,  as  yomr  hepes  prcWgtT 
Tis  heavy,  bnlky,  and  tmfa  ihir  te  prov« 
An  absent  friend's  fidelity  and  iove ; 
.  But  when  ui^[»ck*d  yow  dlMppcintAicnt  p6km 
To  find  it  stutfVI  w5thbridAiM»,  earth,  and  Mbmi.  ^0 

Some  men  eittploy  thchr  health,  an  n^ly  tri*at, 
[n  making  known  how  oft  they  hav«  been  i^ 
And  give  as  in  recitals  of  disease 
A  doctor*s  trouble,  but  without  the  fees ; 
Relate  how  many  weeks  they  kept  their  beef )         Stl5 
How  an  emetick  or  cathlrtick  sped ; 
Nothing  is  srightly  touched,  nmch  less  forgot. 
Nose,  ears,  and  eyes,  seem  present  on  the  spdl 
Now  the  distemper,  spite  of  draught  or  piH, 
Victorious  seem'd,  and  now  the  doctor's  skffl ;         S*) 
And  now— ala^,  foi  imforesieen  mishaps  ♦ 
They  put  on  a  Aorip  nightcap  and  relapso  ; 
They  thought  ihcy  must  have  died,  they  were  so  Hd] 
Their  peevish  hearers  almost  wasli  tliey  had. 


CONVERSATION.  133 

Some  fretful  tempers  winee  at  ey'ry  touch,  335 

IFou  always  do  too  little  or  too  much ; 
You  speak  with  lifis,  in  hopee  to  entertain, 
ir«iif  elevated  voice  goes  through  the  bram ; 
Vou  fall  at  once  into  a  lower  hey, 
That's  worsen— the  dronepipe  of  an  humUebee.       330 
The  southern  sash  achnits  too  strong  a  light. 
Ton  rise  and  drop  the  curtain — now  'tis  mght 
He  dbakes  with  oold*-yott  stir  the  fire  and  strtr^ 
To  make  a  hlaze-*-that's  roasthig  him  idive. 
Serve  him  with  venisonf  and  he  chooses  fish ;  935 

With  soal — ^that's  just  the  sort  he  wonld  not  wish. 
He  takes  what  he  at  first  profem'd  to  loath^, 
And  in  due  time  feeds  heartily  on  both  ; 
Tet  still  overclouded  with  a  constant  frown. 
He  does  not  swallow,  but  he  gulpe  it  down.  9i0 

Tour  hope  to  please  him  vain  on  ev'ry  plan, 
liimself  should  wprk  that  wonder,  if  he  can — 
Alas  \  his  efforts  double  his  distress, 
He  likes  yours  little,  a^  his  own  still  less. 
Thus  always  teazing  others,  alw&y*  teax'd»  8i5 

His  only  pleasure  is — to  be  displeased, 
I  pity  bashful  men,  -who  feel  the  pain 
Of  fimcied  scorn,  and  nnde«>erv'd  disdm, 
And  bear  the  marks,  upon  a  blushing  fiie(9> 
Of  needless  shame,  and  self-«aapQs'd  ditgraos.  360 

Our  sensibilities  are  so  acute, 
The  fear  of  being  silent  makes  us  mute. 
We  sometimes  think  we  could  a  speech  produce 
Much  to  the  purpose,  if  our  tongues  were  loose ; 
But  being  tried,  it  dies  upon  tlie  lip,  ^i 

Faint  as  a  chicken's  note  that  lias  the  pip : 
Our  wasted  oil  unprofitably  burns, 
Like  hidden  lamps  in  old  sepulchral  nms, 
Few  Frenchmen  i)f  this  eviljiave  complain'd ; 
It  seems  as  if  we  I3ritous  were  ordain'd,  .  360 

By  way  of  wholesome  curb  upon  our  pride, 
To  fear  each  other,  fearing  none  hosule. 
Vol.  I.  1-2  . 


134  CX)NVERSATION. 

Th©  cause  perhaps  inquiry  may  descry, 

Self-searching  with  an  introrerted  eye, 

Conceal'd  within  an  unsuspected  part,  365 

The  vainest  comer  of  our  own  vain  heart : 

For  ever  aiming  at  the  worlds  esteem, 

Our  self-importance  ruins  its  own  scheme } 

In  other  eyes  our  talents  rarely  shown, 

Become  at  length  so  splendid  in  our  own,  370 

Wo  dare  not  risk  them  into  publick  view, 

Lest  they  miscarry  of  what  seenn  their  due. 

True  modesty  is  a  discerning  grace. 

And  only  blushes  in  the  proper  pkce ; 

But  counterfeit  is  blmd,  and  skulks  through  fear,    375 

Where  'tis  a  shame  to  be  asham*d  t*  appear  * 

Humility  the  parent  of  the  first, 

The  last  by  vaaity  produc'd  and  nursM. 

The  circle  form'd,  we  sit  in  silent  state. 

Like  figures  drawn  upon  a  dial  plate ;  '^  380 

Yes,  ma'am,  and  No,  ma'am,  utter'd  softly,  show 

Ev'ry  five  minutes  how  the  minutes  go ; 

Each  individual,  sufTring  a  constraint, 

Poelry  may,  but  colours  cannot  paint ; 

As  if  in  close  committee  on  the  sky,  ~      385 

Reports  it  hot  or  cold,  or  wf^t  or  dry  ; 

And  finds  a  changing  clime  a  happy  source 

Of  wise  reflection,  and  well-tim'd  discourse. 

We  next  inquire,  but  softly  and  by  stealth, 

Like  con8ervat<Mr8  of  the  publick  health,  390 

Of  epidemick  throats,  if  such  there  are. 

And  coughs,  and  rheums,  and  phthisicks,  and  catnrrli 

That  theme  exhausted,  a  wide  chasm  ensues, 

Fill'd  up  at  last  with  interesting  news, 

Who  danc'd  with  whom,  and  who  are  like  to  wed,  3!)5 

And  who  is  Iiang'd,  and  who  is  brought  to  bed ; 

But  fear  to  call  a  more  important  cause, 

As  if 'twere  treason  against  English  laws. 

The  visit  paid,  witJi  ecstasy  we  come, 

As  from  a  seven  years'  transportation  home.  400 


CaNVERSATION.  ]» 

And  there  resume  «n  uneo^jarrftss'd  brow, 
RecovTing  what  we  lost  we  laiow*not  how, 
The  faculties,  tliat  seemed  rediie*d  to  nought, 
Expression  and  tke  privilege  of  thought. 

The  reeking,  roaring  hero  of  the  chase,  405 

I  give  him  ever  as  a  desp'rate  case. 
Physicians  write  in.  bopes  to  work  a  cure. 
Never,  if  honest  ones,  when  death  is  sure ; 
And  though  the  fox  he  fellows  may  be  tam*d, 
A  mere  fox  follower  never  is  reclaim'd.  410 

Some  farrier,  should  prescribe  in9  prop^  oovrse, 
Whose  only  fit  companion  is  his  horse  ; 
Or  if  Reserving  of  a  better  doom. 
The  noble  beast  judge  otherwise,  his  groom. 
Yet  e'en  tlie  rogue  that  serves  him,  tho'  he  stand    416 
To  take  his  honour's  orders,  cap  in  hand. 
Prefers  his  fellow  grooms  with,  much  good  iense» 
Their  skill  a  truth,  his  maker's  a  pretence. 
If  neither  horse  nor- groom  affeet  the  squire, 
Where  can  at  last  his  jeeko3rship  retire  ?  420 

Oh  to  the  club,  the  seene  of  savage  joys. 
The  school  of  coarse  good  fellowsltip  and  noise ; 
There  in  tlie  sweet  society  of  those 
Whose  friendship  from  his  boyish  years  ho  chose^ 
Let  him  improve  his  talent  if  he  can,  485 

Till  none  but  beasts  acknowledge  him  a  man. 

Man's  heart  liad  been  impenetrably-  seal'd, 
Like  theirs  that  cleave  tlie  flood  cgr  graze  the  field, 
Had  not  his  Maker's  all-bestowing  hand 
Giv'n  him  a  soul,  and  bade  him  understand  ;  490 

The  reas'ning  pow'r  voucltsafd  of  course  inferr'd 
The  pow'r  to  clothe  that  reason  with  his  word ; 
For  all  is  perfect  that  God  works  on  earth, 
And  he  that  gives  conccpti<niy  aids  the  birth. 
If  this  be  plain,  'tis  pl9.inly  understood,  495 

What  uses  of  his  boon  the  giver  would.    - 
'The  mind  despatch'd  upon  her  busy  toil,    - 
Should  range  where  Providence  hds  l^ees^d  the  eoil; 


im  CONVERSATION. 

Visitinor  ey*ry  flow'r  with  laboar  meet, 

And  guihYmg  all  her  treamires  tweet  by  tweet ;      441 

She  should  iinbue  the  tongtte  with*  what  the  dp§f 

And  shed  the  balmy  blessing  on  the  lipt, 

That  good  diffus'd  may  more  abondant  grow. 

And  speech  may  praise  the  pow*r  that  bidt  It  fkfw: 

Will  the  sweet  warbler  of  the  Ityelong  nigtetj  M 

That  fills  the  listening  lover  with  delight, 

Forget  his  harmony,  with  rapture  hwrd^ 

To  learn  the  twitt*ring  of  a  meaner  bird  ^ 

Or  make  the  parrot's  mimiekry  his  ehoiee, 

That  odious  libel  on  a  human  voiee  ?  4lBb 

No — Nature,  unsophistieote  by  man,  • 

Starts  not  aside  from  her  Creator*^  pkn  | 

The  melody,  thiit  was  at  first  detign'd 

To  cheer  the  rude  forefathers  of  manldad, 

Is  note  for  note  dellver'd  in  our  eurt,  4S5 

[n  the  last  scene  of  lier  mx  thotrtand  years. 

Yet  Fashion,  leader  of  a  chatt*ring  tralti, 

Whom  man  for  his  own  hiirt  fiermits  to  relifs. 

Who  shifts  and  chancres  all  things  but  hit  ^iMp^ 

And  would  degrade  her  votary  to  an  ape^  460 

The  fruitful  parent  of  abuse  atid  wiroiig. 

Holds  a  usnrp'd  dominion  o>r  has  toifgoe ; 

ThOrc  sits  and  prompts  him  with  his  own  dltjftttOi^ 

Prescribes  the  theme,  the  tone,  and  the  grinMO«i< 

And,  when  accomplished  in  her  w&jrward  school,     465 

Calls  gentleman  whoij  she  has  made  A  fool. 

Tis  an  unalterable  fix'd  decree, 

That  none  could  frame  or  ratify  but  she, 

That  Hear'n  and  Hell,  and  righteousnets  attd  mtk. 

Snares  in  his  path,  and  fbes  that  luA  within,  4Uti 

God  and  his  attributes,  (a  field  of  day 

Where  'tis  an  angel's  happiness  to  stray,) 

Fmits  of  his  love  tad  wonders  of  hit  mighty 

Be  never  ham'd  in  ears  esteemed  polite. 

That  he  who  darea,  when  the  forbids,  be  grattf,       M 

Shdl  stand  prowerib'd,  a  madman,  or  a  knave^ 


CONVERSATION.  W 

A  close  designer  not  to  be  belioT'd, 
Or,  if  ezoas'd  that  charge,  at  least  deceiv'd. 
Oh-  folly  worthy  of  the  nurse's  lap, 
Give  it  the  breast,  or  stop  its  month  with  pap  !       480 
[s  it  incred&Ie,  or  can  it  seem 
A  dream  to  any,  Except  those  that  dream. 
That  man  sbonld  love  his  Maker,  and  that  fire, 
Warming  his  heart,  should  at  his  lips  transpire  i 
Know  then,  and  modestly  let  fall  your  eyes,  485 

And  veil  your  daring  ciest  that  braves  the  skiefc , 
That  air  of  insolence  aifr<mts  your  God, 
Ton  need  his  pardon,  and  provoke  his  rod : 
Now,  in  a  posture  that  becomes  you  more       ^ 
Than  that  heroick  strut  assinn'd  before,  490 

Know  your  arrears  with  ev'ry  hour  accrue 
For  mercy  shown,  while  wrath  is  justly  due. 
The  time  is  short,  and  there  are  souls  on  earth, 
Though  future  pain  may  serve  for  present  mirth, 
Acquainted  with  the  woes,  that  fear  or  shame,        496 
By  Fashion  taught,  forbade  them  once  to  name. 
And  having  felt  the  pangs  you  deem  a  jest, 
Have  prov'd  them  truths  too  big  t<^)e  express 'd. 
Go  seek  on  revelation's  hallow'd  ground. 
Sure  to  succeed,  the  remedy  they  found ;  500 

Touch'd  by  that  pow'r  that  you  have  dar'd  to  mock. 
That  makes  seas  stable,  and  dissolves  the  rock, 
Your  heart  shall  yield  a  life-renewing  stream. 
That  fools,  as  you  have  done,  shall  call  a  dream. 

It  happen'd  on  a  solemn  eventide,  605 

Soon  after  He  that  was  our  Surety  died. 
Two  bosont  fHends,  each  pensively  inolin'd. 
The  scene  of  all  those  sorrows  left  behind. 
Sought  their  own  village,  busied  as  they  went 
In  musings  worthy  of  the  great  event :  616 

They  spake  of  him  they  lov'd,  of  him  whose  life,  , 
Though  blameless,  had  incurr'd  perpetual  strifo. 
Whose  deeds  had  left,  in  spite  of  hostile  arts, 
A  deeo  memorial  graven  on  their  hearts. 
12* 


138  CX>J>rVBRSATION. 

The  recollection,  like  a  rein  of  ore  MS 

The  farther  trac'd,  enriched  them  BtiU  th.e  moie  f 
They  thought  him,  and  they  justly  thought  him,  one 
Sent  to  do  more  than  he  appeared  t'  have  done  ; 
T*  exalt  a  people,  and  to  place  thbm  high 
'Above  all  else,  and  wonder'd  he  should  die.  580 

Ere  yet  they  brought  their- journey  to  an  mmI, 
A  stranger  joined  them,  courteous  as  a  friend^ 
And  ask'd  them,  with  a  kind  engaging  air, 
What  theif  afflietion  was,  and  begg'd  a  share. 
Inform 'd,  he  gather 'd  up  the  broken  thread,  62S 

And  truth  and  wisdom  gracing  all  he  said. 
Explained,  illustrated,  and  searcl^/d  so  w^ 
The  tender  theme  on  which  they  chose  to  dwell, 
That  reaching  home,  the  night,  they  said,  is  near, 
We  must  not  now  be  parted,  sojenm  here.  *  530 

The  new  aeqaaintance  soon  became  a  guest. 
And,  made  so  welcome  at  their  simple  feast, 
He  bless'd  the  bread,  but  vanished  at  tl^e  word, 
And  left  them  both  exclaiming,  'Twas  the  Lord  V* 
Did  not  our  hearts  feel  all  he  deign'd  to  say —         535 
Did  they  not  bum  wilhin  us  by  the  way  ?    . 

Now  theirs  was  converse,  such  as  it  behoves 
Man  to  maintain,  and  such  as  God  approves  ; 
Their  view,  indeed  were  indistinct  and  dim, 
But  yet  successful  being  aim'd  at  him.  540 

Christ  and  his  character  their  only  scope. 
Their  object,  And  their  subject,  and  their  hope. 
They  felt  what  it  became  them  much  to  feel, 
And  wanting  him  to  Ipose  the  sacred  seal, 
Found  him  as' prompt,  as  their  desire  w&s  true,       545 
To  spread  the  new-bom  glories  in  their  view. 
Well — ^whst  are  ages  and  the  lapse  of  time 
Mtttch'd  against  truths  as  lasting  as  sublime  ' 
Can  length  of  years  on  God  himself  exact  ? 
Or  make  that  fietioa,  which  was  once  a  fact  f     .    551^ 
No— marble  and  recording  brass  decay. 
And  like  the  graver's  memory  pass  aw^y  ; 


li*^ 


CX)NVERSATICMSr.  130 

llie  wodcf  of  man  inherit,  u  is  josty 
Their  .sirthof  Is  frailty,  mnd  return  to  doit ; 
But  truth  divine  for  ever  stands  secure,  .  556 

lis  head  is  guarded  as  its  base  is  sore ; 
F1x*d  in  the  rolling  flood  of  endless  years, 
The  pillar  of  th' eternal  plan  appears, 
The  raving  storm  and  dashing  waves  defies. 
Built  by  that  architect  who  built  the  skies.  C60 

Hearts  may  be  found  that  harbour,  at  this  hour, 
Tlmt  love  ci  Christ  and  all  its  ^ok'ning  pow^r  ; 
And  lips,  unstain'd  by  &31y  or  by  strife. 
Whose  wisdom  drawn  from  the  deep  well  of  ll&y 
Tastes  of  its  healthful  origin,  and  flows  6G5 

A  Jordan  for  th*  ablution  of  our  wees. 
O  days  of  Heav*n,  and  nights  of  equal  praise, 
Serene  and'peaceful  as  those  heavenly  days, 
When  souls  drawn  upwards  hi  commmuon  sweiity 
Enjoy  the  stiMness  of  some  dose  retreat,  579  ' 

Discourse,  as  if  releasVl  and  safe  at  he^Oe^ 
Of  dangers  pass'd,  and  wcmders  yet  io  come, 
And  spread  the  sacred  Ueasures  g£  the  Weast 
Upon  the  lap  of  covenanted  rest. 

What,  always  dreaming  over  heavenly  things,     875 
Like  angel  heads  in  stone  with  pigeon  wings ' 
Canting  and  whining  out  all  day  the  word, 
And  half  the  night  ?  fan^tiok  and  absurd ! 
Mine  be  the  friend  less  frefuent  m  hm  pray*rs,  i 

Who  makes  no  bustle  with  his  sonlli  uSaksp  660 

Whose  wit  can  brighten  up  a  wintry  dvy, 
And  chase  the  i|»ieiietick  dull  hours  away ; 
Content  oa  earth  in  earthly  things  to  shine. 
Who  waits  for  Heav'n  ere  he  becomes  divine. 
Leaves  saints  t'  enjoy  those  altitudes  they' teach,     685 
And  plucks  the  £ruit  ]4ao*d  more  within  his  reaob* 

WeU  spoken,  Advocate  of  sin  and  shame, 
Knows  by  ^y  bleatii^,  Ignoranee  thy  name^ 
Is  sparkling  wit  the  world's  exclusive  right, 
The  fiz'd  fee  simfde  of  the  vaia  and  light '  600 


l!b- 


140  CONVKRSATION. 

Can  hopes  of  Heav'n,  bright  prospects  of  an  1 
That  come  to  waft  us  ont  of  sorrow's  pow*f, 
Obscure  or  quench  a  faculty  that  finds 
Its  happiest  soil  in  the  serenest  minds  ? 
Religion  curbs  indeed  its  wanton  play,  696 

And  brings  the  trifler  under  rig'rous  sway, 
But  gives  it  usefulness  unknown  before,    " 
And,  purifying,  makes  it  shine  the  more. 
A  Christian's  wit  is  inoffensive  light, 
A  beam  that  aids,  but  never  grieves  the  sight ;         €0(^ 
Vigorous  in  age  as  in  the  flush  of  youth, 
*Tis  always  active  on  the  side  of  truth : 
Temp'rance  and  peace  insure  its  healthful  state, 
And  make  it  brightest  at  its  latest  date. 
Oh  I  have  seen,  (nor  hope  perhaps  in  vain,  605 

Ere  life  go  down,  to  see  such  sights  again,) 
,A  vet 'ran  warriour  in  the  Christian  field, 
Who  never  saw  the  sword  he  could  not  wield ; 
Grave,  wifliotit* fulness,  learned  without  pride, 
Exact,  yet  not  precise  ;  though  meek,  keen-^*d ;  616 
A  man  that  wouM  have  foiPd  at  their  own  play 
A  dozen  would-be's  of  the  modem  day ; 
Who,  when  occasion  justified  its  use, 
Had  wit  as  bright  as  ready  to  produce ; 
Could  fetch  from  records  of  an  earUer  age,  ^5 

Or  from  philosophy's  enlightenM  page, 
*llis  rich  materials',  and  regale  your  ear 
With  strains  it  was  a  privilege  to  hear  : 
Yet  above  all,  his  luxury  suprenie, 
And  his  chief  glory,  was  the  Gospel  theme  j  €90 

There  he  was  copious  as  old  Greece  or  Rottift, 
His  happy  eloquence  scem'd  there  at  home, 
Ambitious  not  to  shine  or  to  excel. 
But  to  treat  justly  what  he  lov'd  so  veeH. 

It  moves  me  more  perhaps  than  folly  ought,         OSSS 
When  some  green  heads,  as  void  of  wit  as  thoo^ll^    * 
Suppose  themselves  monopolists  of  sense, 
And  wiser  men's  ability  pretence.      "  .       ., . 


=:*il 


OOKVERSATION.  141 

ThoQf  h  time  stiB  w«u  vis,  mnd  wo  must  grow  ol^ 
Such  men  are  nc^  forff&i  as  soon  as  cold,  080 

Their  firagrant  memory  .will  outlast  their  tomb, 
Embalm'd  for  over  in  its  own  perfame. 
And  to  say  trutfi,  thou^  in  its  early  prime, 
And  when  nnstain^d  with  aay  grosser  crime, 
Youth  has  a  sprifhtlmess  and  fire  to  boast,  G3S 

That  in  the  valley  of  decline  are  lost, 
And  Virtue  with  peculiar  charms  appears, 
Crown'd  with  the  gariand  (^life's  blooming  y«M; 
Tet  age,  by  long  esperience  well  in£>rm*d, 
Well  read,  well  teo^r'd,  with  religion  wormM,      640 
That  fire  abated,  which  impels  rash  youth, 
Proud  of  his  speed  to  overshoot  the  truth, 
As  time  improves  the  grape*s  authentick  juiee. 
Mellows  an^  makes  the  q>eech  more  fit  ibr  ttiMi 
And  claims  a  revVence  in  its  short'ning  day,  64$ 

That  'tis  an  honour  and  a  joy  to  pay. 
The  fruits  of  age  less  fair,  a^  yet  mottf  soond^ 
Than  those  q,  brighter  seascm  pours  around ; 
And  like  the  stores  antunnai  suns  mature, 
'  Through  wintry  ri|oar8  unimpab'd  enditre  ,  060 

What  is  fanatick  ]^onzy,  seom'd  so  muchj 
And  dreaded  more  than  a  contagious  tottch  ?  . 
I  grant  it  dang'ious,  and  approve  ytmt  fesry 
That  fire  is  catching  if  you  draw  too  neur  | 
But  sage  observers  oft  mistake  the  fiazne^      *         66S 
And  give  true  piety  that  ochous  name. 
To  tremble,  (as  the  creattiro  of  an  hota 
Ought  at  the  view  of  an  t^nighty  pow't,) 
Before  his  presence,  at  whose  awfdl  thfoine 
All  tremble  in  dlU  worldtfj  except  ottr  oWii,  CtlQ 

To  supplicate  his  mercy,  love  his  Wiiya, 
And  prize  thtnaft  above  pleasure,  wedlh,  6t  ftiSm^ 
Though  eommott  senses  «^k>W*d  at  dsting  Voice, 
And  fipee  from  bias,  mudt  tLpprtitld  the  choiMj 
Convicts  a  man  fitf^Ltick  in  th'  extreme,  (f^ 

And  wild  as  mftdltess  in  the  world'A  eiteem. 


i4S  C0NV£RSAT10N. 

But  that  disease,  when  soberly  defin'd, 

is  the  falso  firo  of  an  overheated  inind: 

It  views  the  truth  with  a  distorted  eye, 

And  either  warps  or  lays  it  useless  by;  €7t 

*Tis  narrow,  selfish,  arrogant,  and  draws 

Its  sordid  nourishment  from  roan's  applanae , 

And  while  at  heart  sin  unrelinquish'd  lies, 

Presumes  itself  chief  far'rite  of  the  dues.  > 

Tis  such  a  liffat  as  putrefaction  breeds  625 

In  fly-blown  flesh,  whereon  the  maggot  feeds, 

Shines  in  the  dark,  but  usher'd  into  day. 

The  stench  remains,  the  lustre  dies  away. 

True  bliss,  if  man  may  reach  it,  is  compos'd 
Of  hearts  in  union  mutually  discloe'd :  680 

And,  farewell  else  all  hope  of*pure  delight, 
Those  hearts  should  be  reclaimed,  renewed,  iqiright. 
Bad  men,  profaning  friendship's  hallowed  name. 
Form,  in  its  stead,  a  corenant  of  shame  : 
A  dark  confederacy  against  the  laws  68S 

Of  virtue  and  religion's  glorious  cause : 
They  build  each  other  up  with  dreadful  riuU, 
As  bastions  set  point  blank  against  God's  will ; 
Enlarge  and  fortify  the  dread  redoubt. 
Deeply  resolved  to  shut  a  Saviour  out ;  €00 

Call  legions  up  from  Hell  to  back  the  deed, 
And,  curs'd  with  cimquest,  finally  suGooed. 
But  souls* that  carry  on  a  bless'd  ^xcfaai^e 
Of  joys  they  meet  with  in  their  heav'nly  rang*^ 
And  with  a  fearless  confidence  make  known  609 

The  sorrows  sympathy  esteems  its  own, 
Daily  derive  increasing  light  and  force 
From  such  communion  in  their  pleasant  coune. 
Feel  less  the  journey's  roughness  ana  its  length. 
Meet  their  o[^sers  with  united  strength,  TQf^ 

And,  one  in  heart,  in  int'rest,  and  design, 
Gird  up  each  other  to  the  race  divine. 

But  Conversatitm,  choose  what  theme  w«  maff 
And  chiefly  when  religion  leads  the  way, 


CONVERSATION.  M3 

Should  flow  like  waters  after  somraer  riiow'n,         705 
Not  as  if  rais'd  by  mere  mechanick  pow'w. 
The  Christian,  in  whose  soul,  thongrh  now  diBtroM*d, 
Lives  the  dear  thought  of  joys  he  oncepossess'dy 
When  all  his  glowing  language  issued  forth 
With  God's  deep  stamp  upon  its  current  worOi,      710 
Will  speak  without  disguise,  and  must  impart, 
Sad  as  it  is,  his  undissembling  heart, 
Abhors  constraint,  and  dares  not  feign  a  zeal, 
Or  seem  lo  bdast  a  fire  he  does  not  feel. 
The  song  of  Sion  is  a  tasteless  thing,  715 

Ifnless,  wlien  rising  on  a  joyful  wing. 
The  soul  can  mix  with  the  celestial  bands, 
And  give  the  strain  the  compass  it  demands. 

Strange  tidings  these  to  tell  a  worH  who  treat 
All  but  their  own  experience  as  deceit !  720 

Will  they  believe,  though  credulous  enough 
To  swallow  much  upon  much  weaker  proof^ 
That  there  are  bless'd  inhabitants  on  earth, 
Partakers  of  a  new  ethereal  birth, 
Their  hopes,  desires,  and  purj^wes  estranged  725 

From  tilings  terrestrial  and  divinely  chang'd, 
Their  very  language  of  a  kind  that  speaks 
The  soul's  sure  int'rest  in  the  good  she  seekn ; 
Who  deal  with  Scripture,  its  importance  felt 
As  Tuily  with  philogophy  once  dealt,  ^  730 

And  hi  the  silent  watches  of  the  night, 
And  through  the  scenes  of  toil-renewing  light, 
The  social  walk,  or  solitary  ride. 
Keep  still  the  dear  companion  at  their  side  ? 
No— shame  upon  a  self-disgracing  age,  7:C. 

God's  work  may  serve  an  ape  upon  a  stage 
With  such  a  jest,  as  iill'd  with  hellish  glee 
Certain  invisibles  as  shrewd  as  he ; 
But  veneration  or  respect  finds  none, 
Save  from  the  subject  of  tlmt  work  alono.  740 

The  world  grown  old,  her  deep  discernment  shows, 
Claps  spectacles  on  her  sagacious  nose, 


144  CONVERSATION. 

Pernsef  cUmlj  the  true  Cluristi^'s  face, 

And  finds  it  %  mere  mask  of  sly  grimace } 

Usurpe  Ood'i  office,  lays  his  boaoxn  harei  7^ 

And  finde  hiypocrii^  close  lurking  there. 

And  serring  God  herself  through  mere  constraint. 

Concludes  hi»  itnieilgn'd  love  of  him  a  feint. 

And  yet  God  ksows,  look  human  nature  through, 

(And  in  due  time  the  world  shall  know  it  tooj)         7^ 

That  smce  the  flow'rs  of  £den  felt  the  blast. 

That  after  man's  defection  laid  all  waste,      ^ 

Sincerity  towards  the  heart-searching  God    - 

Has  made  the  new-bom  creature  her  abode. 

Nor  shall  be  Ibund  m  unrtgen'rate  souls,  755 

Till  the  last  fire  burn  ail  between  the  polee, 

Sincerity !  why  'tis  his  only  pride. 

Weak  and  imperfect  in  all  grace  beside  ; 

He  knows  that  God  demands  his  heart  entire, 

And  gives  hm  aU  his  just  demands  require.  700 

Without  it  )m  pr eteiuaons  were  as  vain, 

As,  having  it,  he  deems  the  world's  disdain , 

That  great  defect  would  cost  him  not  alonp. 

Man's  favourable  judgment,  but  his  own } 

I)is  birthright  shaken,  and  no  longer  clear  7G5 

Than  while  hi^  conduct  proves  his  heart  sincere. 

Retort  the  charge,  and  let  the  world  be  told 

She  boasts  a  confidence  she  does  not  hold ; 

That,  conscious  of  her  crimes^.she  feels  inste^id 

A  cold  misgiving,  and  a  killing  dread  :  770 

That  while  in  health  the  ground  of  her  support 

Is  madly  to  forget  that  life  is  short ; 

That  sick  she  trembles,  knowing  she  must  die, 

Her  hope  presumption,  and  her  fiiith  a  lie  ; 

That  while  she  dotes,  and  dreams  that  she  believes. 


She  mocks  her  Maker,  and  herself  deceives ; 

Her  utmost  reach  historical  assent, 

The  doctrines  warp'd  to  what  tliey  never  meant ; 

That  truth  itself  is  in  lier  licad  as  dull 

And  useless  as  a  candle  in  a  skull  ; 


776 


780 


CONVERSATION.  145 

And  all  her  love  of  God  a  groundless  claim, 
A  trick  upon  the  canyass,  painted  flame. 
Tell  her  again,  the  sneer  upon  her  &ce, 
And  all  her  censures  *of  the  work  of  grace, 
Are  insincere,  meant  only  to  conceal  •  786 

A  dread  she  would  not,  yet  is  forc'd  to  feel ; 
That  in  her  heart  the  Christian  she  reveres, 
And  while  she  seems  to  scorn  him,  only  fean. 

A  poet  does  not  worl^  by  square  or  line. 
As  smiths  and  joiners  perfect  a  design  ;  WO 

At  least  we  moderns,  our  attention  less, 
Beyond  the  example  of  our  sires  digress. 
And  claim  a  right  to  scamper  and  run  wide, 
Wherever  chance,  caprice,  or  fancy  guide. 
The  world  and  i  tbrtuitously  met ;  W6 

1  ow*d  a  trifle,  and  have  paid  the  debt ; 
She  did  me  wrong,  I  recompensM  the  deed, 
And  having  struck  the  balance,  now  proceed. 
Perhaps,  however,  as  some  years  have-pass'd 
Since  she  and  I  convers'd  together  last,  800 

And  I  have  livM  recluse  in  rural-shades, 
Which  seldom  a  distinct  report  pervades. 
Great  changes  and  new  manners  have  occurt'd, 
And  bless'd  reforms,  that  I  have  never  heard, 
And  she  may  now  be  as  discreet  and  wise  805 

As  once  absurd  in  all  discerning  eyes. 
Sobriety,  perhaps,  may  now  be  found 
Where  once  intoxication  press'd  the  ground : 
The  subtle  and  injurious  may  bo  just, 
And  he  grown  chaste  that  was  the  slave  of  hist ;     810 
Arts  once  esteemed  may  be  with  shame  dismiss 'd  ; 
Charity  may  relax  the  miser*s  fist ; 
The  gamester  may  have  cast  his  cards  *away, 
Forgot  to  curse  and  only  kneel  to  pray. 
It  has  indeed  been  told  me,  (with  what  weight,        815 
How  credibly,  *tis  hard  for  me  to  state,) 
That  fables  old,  that  seemed  fbr  ever  mute, 
Reviv*d  are  hast'ning  into  fresh  repute, 
Vol.  I.  13 


146 


CONVERSATION. 


And  gods  and  goddesses,  discarded  long 

Like  useless  lumber^  or  a  stroller's  song,  820 

Are  bringing  into  vogue  their  Iieathen  train, 

And  Jupiter  bids  fair  to  rule  again ; 

That  certain  feasts  are  instituted  now. 

Where  Venus  hears  the  lovers'  tender  vow ; 

That  all  Olympus  through  the  country  roves,         825 

To  consecrate  our  few  remaining  groves ; 

And  Echo  learns  politely  to  repeat 

The  praise  of  names  for  ages  obsolete ; 

That  having  proved  the  weakness,  it  should  seem 

Of  revelation's  ineffectual  beam,  830 

To  bring  the  passions  under  sober  sway, 

And  give  the  moral  springs  their  proper  play, 

They  mean  to  try  what  may  at  last  be  done, 

By  stout  substantial  gods  of  wood  and  stone, 

And  whether  Roman  rites  may  not  produce  835 

The  virtues  of  old  Rome  for  English  use. 

May  such  success  attend  the  pious  plan^ 

May  Mercury  once  more  embellish  man, 

Grace  him  again  with  long  forgotten  arts, 

Reclaun  his  taste,  an^,  brighten  up  his  parts^  840 

Make  Iiim  athletick  as  in  days  of  old, 

Leam'd  at  the  bar,  in  the  peloestra  bold, 

D'vest  the  rougher  sex  of  female  airs, 

And  teach  the  sofler  not  to  oopy  theirs : 

The  change  shall  please,  nor  shall  it  matter  aught 

Who  works  the  wonder,  if  it  be  but  wrought.  846 

*Tis  time,  however,  if  the  case  stand  thus. 

For  us  plain  folks,  and  all  who  side  with  us, 

To  build  our  altar,  confident  and  bold, 

And  say  as  stem  Elijah  said  of  old,  S50 

The  strife  now  stands  upon  a  fair  award. 

If  Israel's  Lord  be  God,  then  serve  the  Lord 

If  he  be  silent,  faith  is  all  a  wliim. 

Then  Baal  is  the  God,  and  worship  him. 

Digression  is  so  much  in  modern  use,  855 

Thought  is  BO  rare,  and  fancy  so  profuse. 


CONVERSATION.  147 

Some  never  seem  so  wide  of  their  intent, 

As  when  returning  to  the  theme  they  meant ; 

As  mendicants,  whose  business  is  to  roam, 

Make  every  parish  but  their  own  their  home.  860 

Though  such  continual  zigzags  in  a  book, 

Such  drunken  reelings  have  an  awkward  look, 

And  I  had  rather  creep  to  what  is  true, 

Than  rove  and  stagger  with  no  mark  in  view ; 

Tet  to  consult  a  little  seem*d  no  crime,  866 

The  freakish  humour  of  the  present  time  : 

But  now  to  gather  up  what  seems  dispertVl, 

And  touch  the  subject  I  desigif  d  at  first, 

May  prove,  though  much  beside  the  ndes  of  art 

Best  for  the  publick,  and  my  wisest  part.  870 

And  first,  let  no  man  charge  me,  that  I  mean 

To  clothe  in  «able  ev'ry  social  scene, 

And  give  good  company  a.  face  severe, 

As  if  they  met  around  a  father's  bier ; 

For  tell  some  men,  that  pleasure  all  their  bent,       875 

And  laughter  all  their  work,  is  life  nuspent ; 

Their  wisdom  bursts  into  this  sage  reply. 

Then  mirth  is  sin,  and  we  should  always  cry. 

To  find  tho  medium  a^s  some  phare  of  wit. 

And  therefore  'tis  a  mark  fools  never  hit  860 

But  though  life's  valley  be  a  vale  of  tears, 

A  brighter  scene  beyond  that  vale  ^>pean, 

Whose  glory  with  a  light  that  never  fades. 

Shoots  between  scatter'd  rocks  and  op'ning  dudlef, 

And  while  it  ^ows  the  land  the  soul  denies,  865 

The  language  of  the  land  she  seeke  inspires. 

Thus  touch'd,  the  tongue  receives  a  sacred  cure 

Of  all  that  was  absurd,  profane,  impure ; 

Held  within  modest  bounds,  the  tide  of  speech 

Pursues  the  course  that  truth  and  nature  teach  f     800 

No  longer  labours  merely  to  produce 

The  pomp  of  sound  or  tinkle  without  use ; 

Where'er  it  winds,  the  salutary  stream, 

Sprightly  and  fresh*  enriches  every  tlieme, 


148  CONVERSATION. 

While  all  tlie  happy  man  possessed  before,  806 

The  gill  of  nature  or  the  classick  store. 

Is  mmde  subservient  to  the  grand  design 

For  which  Heav  n  form'd  the  faculty  divine. 

So,  shoidd  an  idiot,  while  at  largo  he  strays, 

Find  the  sweet  lyre  on  which  an  artist  plays,  900 

With  rash  and  awkward  force  the  chords  he  shakes, 

And  grins  with  wonder  at  the  jar  he  noakes ; 

But  let  the  wise  and  well-instructed  hand 

Once  take  the  shell  beneath  his  just  command, 

In  gentle  sounds  it  soem'd  as  it  complained  906 

Of  the  rude  injuries  it  late  sustained. 

Till  tun'd  at  lengtli  to  some  immortal  song, 

It  ■oiinds  Jehovah's  name,  and  pours  Lis.prftbe  aIoiii^. 


.    RETIREMENT. 


iUJlorms  ignobilis  ott, 
^  ,  ViRG.  Georg.  Lil>.  4.^ 

HACKNET'D  in  business,  weftried  at  that  oar 
Which  thousands,  once  fast  chained  to,  qtut  no  i 
But  which,  when  life  at  ebb  runs  weak  and  IoW| 
AU  wish,  or  seem  to  wii^,  thej  could  forego ; 
The  statesman,  lawyer,  merchant,  man  of  trade,         5 
Pants  for  the  refuge  of  some  rural  shade, 
Where,  all  his  long  anxieties  forgot 
Amid  tJie  charms  of  a  sequester'd  spot, 
Or  recollected  only  to  gild  o'er, 
And  add  a  smile  to  what  was  sweet  befbre,  10 

He  may  possess-the  joys  he  thinks  he  sees, 
Lay  his  old  age  upon  the  lap  of  ease, 
Improve  the  remnant  of  his  wasted  span. 
And,  having  liy*d  a  trifler,  die  a  man.  • 

Thus  Conscience  pleads  her  cause  within  the  breast. 
Though  long  rebelled  against,  not  3ret  suppressed,       16 
And  calls  a  creature  formed  for.  God  alone. 
For  Heay*n*s  high  purposes,  and  not  his  own,' 
^alls  him  away  from  selfish  ends  and  aims. 
From  what  debilitates  and  what  inflames,  20 

From  cities  humming  with  a  restless  crowd. 
Sordid  as  active,  ignorant  as  loud, 
13* 


l&O  AETIUEMENT. 

Whose  highest  pruse  is  tliat  they  live  in  Tain, 

The  dupes  of  pleasure,  or  the  slaves  of  gain. 

Where  works  of  man  are  clustered  close  around,       2S 

And  works  of  God  are  hardljr  to  be  found. 

To  regions  where  in  spite  of  sin  and  wo, 

Traces  of  Eden  are  still  seen  below, 

Where  moimtain)  river,  forest,  field,  andgrove,    . 

Remind  hhn  t)f  his  Maker's  power  andHdve.)  30 

Tis  well  if,  looked  for  at  so  late  a  day, 

In  the  last  scene  of  sUch  a  senseless  play, 

True  wiscbm  will  attend  his  feeble  call, 

And  grace  his  action  ere  the  curtain  fall. 

Souls  that  have  long  despised  their  heavenly  birth,    35 

Their  wishes  all  Impregnated  with  earth,  * 

For  threescore  years  employed  with  ceaseless  care 

In  catching  smoke  and  feeding  upon- air. 

Conversant  only  with  the  ways  dfmen. 

Rarely  redeem  the  short  remaining  ten.  -40 

Invet'rate  habits,  choke  tli'  unfruitful  heart. 

Their  fibres  penetrate  its  tend'rcst  part. 

And  draining  its  nutritious  pow'rs  to  feed 

Their  noxious  growth^  starve  ev'ry  better  «eed. 

Happy,  if  fidl  of  days — ^but  happier  far,  45 

If,  ere  we  yet  discern  life's  evening  star, 
'  Sick  of  the  service  of  a  world  that  feeds 
Its  patient  drudges  with  dry  chaffaod  weeds, 
We  can  escape  fi:om  custom's  idiot  sway, 
To  serve  the  Sovereign  we  were  born  t*  obey.  50 

Then  sweet  to  muse  upon  his  skill  display 'd, 
^'Infinite  skill,)  in  all  that  he  has  made  ! 
To  trace  in  nature's  most  minute  design 
The  signature  and^amp  of  pow'r  divine, 
Contrivance  intricate,  express'd  with  ease,  55 

Where  unassisted  sight  no  beauty  sees,  ***; 

The  shapely  limb  and  lubricated  joint. 
Within  tiae  small  dimensions  of  a  point, 
Muscle  and  nerve  miraculously  spun. 
His  mighty  work,  who  speaks  and  it  is  done,  (50 


RETIREMENT.  151 

Th'  Invisible  in  things  scarce  seen  roToal'd, 
To  whom  an  atom  is  an  ample  field ; 
To  wonder  at  a  thousand  insect  forms, 
■Theso  hatched  and  those  resuscitated  worms. 
New  life  ordain*d  and  brighter  scenes  to  irinure,         65 
Once  prone  on  earth,  now  buoyant  upon  air, 
Whose  shape  would  make  them,  had  they  bulk '  and 

size. 
More  hideous  foes  thari  fancy  can  devise ; 
With  helmet  heads^  and  dragon  scales  adom'd, 
The  mighty  myriads,  now  securely  scom^d,  70 

Would  mock  the  majesty  of  man's  high  birth, 
Despise  his  bulwarks,  and  unpeople  earth  * 
Tiien  with  a  glance  of  fancy  to  survey, 
Far  as  the  faculty  can  stretch  away. 
Ten  thousand  rivers  poured  at  his  command  '  T5 

From  urns  that  never  fail,  through  evYy  l«nd ; 
This  like  a  deluge  with  impetuous  force, 
Those  winding  modestly  a  silent  cotirse ; 
The  clond-surmoimting  Alps,  the  fruitful  vtdes ; 
Seas,  on  which  ev*ry  nation  spreads  hei^  saBs ;  80 

Tho  sun,  a  world  whence  other  worlds  drink  ligtit, 
Tho  crescent  moon,  the  diadem  of  night ; 
Stars  countless,  each  in  his  appointed  place 
Fast  anchored  in  the  deep  abyss  of  space— 
At  such  a  sight  to  catch  the  poetV  fiamei  •    ^85 

And  with  a  rapture  like  his  own  exclaim, 
These  are  thy  gloriousworksy^thouflourceof  good, 
How  dimly  seen,  how  faintly  understood ! 
Thine,  and  upheld  by  thy  paternal  care, 
This  universal  fifame,-  thus,  wondrous  fidr :  90 

Thy  pow'r  divine,  and  bounty  beyond  thought, 
Ador*d  and  prais*d  inlUl  that  thou  hast  wrought 
Absorb'd  in  that  immensity  I  see, 
I  shrink  abasM^  and  yet  aspire  to  thee ; 
Instruct  me,  guide  me  to  that  heavenly  day,  '96 

Thy  words  more  clearly  than't^y  worfei  disptay 


152  RETiaEMkCiNT 

That)  while  thy  trutlis  my  grosser  thou^rhto  refiiw^ 

I  may  resemblo  thee,  and  call  thee  mine. 

Oh  blest  proficiency !  supassing  all 
That  men  erroneously  their  glory  call,  lOt 

The  recompense  that  arts  or  arms  can  yield. 
The  bar,  the  senate,  or  the  tented  field. 
Compared  with  this  sublimest  life  below, 
Ye  kings  and  rulers,  what  have  courts  to  fhow  ^ 
Thus  studied,  U8*d,  and  consecrated  thus,  195 

On  earth,  what  is,  seems  form'd  indeed  for  us . 
Not  as  the  plaything  of  a  froward  child, 
Fretful  unless  diverted  and  beguird. 
Much  less  to  feed  and  fan  the  fatal  fires 
Of  pride,  ambition,  or  impure  desires  ;  110 

But  as  a  scale,  by  which  the  soul  ascends 
From  mighty  means  to  more  important  ends,    « 
Securely,  though  by  steps  but  rarely  trod. 
Mounts  from  inferiour  beings  up  tp  God, 
And  sees,  by  no-  fallacious  light  or  dim,  115 

Earth  made  for  man,  and  man  himself  for  him. 

Not  that  I  mean  t*  approve,  or  would  enforce, 
A  si^rstitious  and  monastick  course : 
Truth  is  not  local,  God  alike  pervades 
And  fills  the  world  of  traffick,  and  the  shades,         ISO 
And  may  be  fear'd  amidst  the  busiest  scenes, 
Or  scom'd  where  business  never  intervenes. 
But  'tis  not  easy  with  a  mind  like  ours. 
Conscious  of  weakness  in  its  noblest  pow'rs, 
And  in  a  world  where  other  ills  apart,  125 

The  roviug  eye  misleads  the  careless  heart. 
To  limit  Thought,  by  nature  prone  to  stray 
Wherever  freakish  Fancy  points  the  way ;  , 

To  bid  the  ];deadings  of  self-love  be  still. 
Resign  our  own,  and  seek  our  Maker's  will ;  KM) 

To  spread  the  page  of  Scripture,  and  compare 
Our  conduct  with  the  laws  engraven  there ; 
To  measure  all  that  passes  in  the  breast, 
Faithfully,  fairly,  by  that  sacred  test 


KETIRKM^NT.  16JI 

To  4Iv^  into  the  secret  deeps  within,  135 

To  spare  no  passion  and  no  favorite  sin, 
And  searcA  tlie  themes  important  above  all, 
Ourselves  and  our  recov'ry  from  our  fidL 
But  leisure,  silence,  and  a  mind  releas'd 
From  anxious  thoughts  how  wealth  may  be  increas'd, 
How  to  secure,  in  some  p^opitioxis  hour,  41 

The  point  of  interest  or  the  post  of  pow'r, 
A  soul  serene,  and  lequally  retir'd, 
From  objects  too  much  dreaded  or  desir'd, 
Safb  from  the  clamours  of  perverse  dispute,  145 

At  least  are  friendly  to  the  great  pursuit. 

Op'ning  the  map  of  God's  extensive  plan, 
We  find  a  little  isle,  this  life  of  man  ; 
Eternity's  unknown  expanse  appears 
Circling  aroimd  and  limiting  his  years.  150 

The  busy  race  examine  and  explore 
Each  creek  and  cavern  of  the  dangVous  shore,    . 
With  care  collect  wliat  in  their  eyes  e:ccels. 
Some  shining  pebbles,  «nd  some  weeds  and  shells  ', 
Thus  laden,  dream  fhat  they  are  rich  and  great,      155 
And  happiest  he  that  groans  beneath  his  weighs : 
The  waves  overtake  them  in  their  serious  play, 
And  ev'ry  hour  sweep  multitudes  away ; 
They  shrink  and  sink,  survivors  start  and  weep, 
Pursue  their  sport,  and  follow  to  tlie  deep.  IGO 

A  few  forsake  the  throng ;  with  lifted  eyes 
Ask  wealth  of  Heav'n,  and  gain  a  real  prize — 
Truth,  wisdom,  grace,  and  peace  like  that  above, 
Se^'d  with  his  signet,  whom  they  serve  and  love, 
Scom*d  by  the  rest,  with  patient  hope  they  wait      165 
A  kind  release  from  their  imperfect  state. 
And  unregretted  are  soon  snatch'd  away 
From  scenes  of  sorrow  into  glorious  day. 

Now  these  alone  prefer  a  life  recluse, 
Who  seek  retirement  for  its  proper  use ;  ITU 

The  love  of  change,  that  lives  in  ev'ry  breast. 
Genius  and  temper,  and  desire  of  rest. 


5^  R^ITIREMENT. 

Discordant  motives  in  one  centre  moet, 

And  each  inclines  its  votary  to  retreat. 

Some  minds  by  nature  are  averse  to  noise,    -  175 

And  hate  the  tumult  half  the  world  enjoys, 

The  lure  of  av'rice,  or  the  pompous  prize. 

That  courts  display  before  ambitious  eyes , 

The  fruits  that  hang  on  pleasure's  flow*ry  stem,     * 

Whatever  enchants  them,  ar6  no  snares  to  them.      180 

To  them  tho  deep  recess  of  dusky  groves, 

Or  forest,  where  the  deer  securely  roves, 

The  fall  of  waters,  and  the  song  of  birds. 

And  hills  that  echo  to  the  distant  herds. 

Are  luxuries  excelling  all  the  glare  186 

The  world  can  boast,  and  her  chief  fav'iites  share 

With  eager  stop  and  carelessly  array *d,    • 

For  such  a  cause  tho  poet  seeks  the  shade  ; 

From  all  he  sees  he  catches  new  delight, 

Ploas'd  Fancy  claps  her  pipions  at  the  sight ;  '        190 

The  rising  or  the  setting  orb  of  day, 

The  clouds  that  flit,  or  slowly  float  away. 

Nature  in  all  the  various  shapes  she  wears, 

Frowning  in  storms,  or  breathing  gentle  aire,  • 

The  snowy  robe  her  wintry  state  assumes, ,  195 

Her  summer  heats,  her  fruits,  and  her  porfmnes, 

All,  all  alike  transport  the  glowmg  bard, 

Success  in  rhyme  his  glory  and  reward. 

0  Nature  !  whose  Elysian  scenes  disclose 

His  bright  perfections,  at  whose  word  they  rose,     200 

Next  to  that  pow'r  who  fbrm'd  thee  and  sustains, 

Be  thou  the  great  inspirer  of  my  strains. 

Still  as  I  touch  the  lyre,  do  thou  expand 

Thy  genuine  charms,  and  guide  an  artless  hand. 

That  I  may  catch  a  fire  but  rarely  known,  205 

Give  useful  light,  though  I  should  miss  renown  ; 

And  poring  on  thy  page,  whose  ev'ry  line 

Bears  proof  of  an  intelligence  divine, 

May  feel  a  heart  enrich'd  by  what  it  pays. 

That  builds  its  glory  on  its  Maker's  praise.  *  210 


^^^■T^'Jit* 


RETIREMENT.  195 

Wo  to  the  man,  whose  wit  disclaims  its  use, 
GUtt*ring  in  vain,  or  only  to  seduce, 
Who  studies  nature  with  a  Wanton  eye, 
/Admires  the  work,  but  slips  the  lesson  by ; 
His  hours  of  leisure  and  recess  employs  S15 

In  drawing  pictures  of  forbidden  joys. 
Retires  to  blazon  his  own  worthless  name, 
Or  shoot  the  careless  with  a  surer  aim. 

The  loTer,  too,  shuns  business  and  alarms, 
Tender  idolater  of  absent  charms.  220 

Saints  ofier  nothing'  in  their  warmest  pray'rs. 
That  he  devotes  not  with  a  zeal  like  theirs ; 
Tis  consecration  of  his  heart,  soul,  time. 
And  ev'ry  thought  that  wanders  is  a  crime. 
hi  sighs  he  worships  his  supremely  fair,  22S> 

And  weeps  a  sad  libation  in  despair  ; 
Adores  a  creature,  and,  devout  in  vain, 
Wins  in  return  an  answer  of  disdain. 
As  woodbine  weds  the  plant  within  her  reach, 
Rough  elm,  or  smooth-grain'd  ash,  or  glossy  beech, 
In  spiral  rings  ascends  the  trunk,  and  lays  231 

Her  golden  tassels  on  the  leafy  sprays, 
But  does  a  mischief  while  she  lends  a  grace, 
Strait 'ning  its  growth  by  such  a  strict  embrace  ; 
So  love,  that  clings  around  the  noblest  minds,  039 

Forbids  th*  advancement  of  tho  soul  he  binds ; 
The  snitor's  air,  indeed,  he  soon  improves, 
And  forms  it  to  the  taste  of  her  ho  loves. 
Teaches  his  eyes  a  language,  and  no  less 
Refines  his  speech,  and  fashions  his  address !  240 

,  But  farewell  promises  of  happier  fruits ; 
Manly  dengns,  and  learning's  grave  pursuits ; 
Girt  with  a  chain  he  cannot  wish  to  break, 
His  only  bliss  is  sorrow  for  her  sake  , 
Who  will  may  pant  for  glory  and  excel,  246 

Her  smile  his  aim,  all  higher  aims  farewell ! 
Thyrsis,  Alexb,  or  whatever  name 
May  least  offend  against  so  pure  a  flame, 


150  RETIREMENT 

Though  sagre  advice  of  friends  the  most  sincere 
Sounds  harshly  in  9j  delicate  an  car,  250 

V  And  lovers,  of  all  creatures,  tame  or  wild, 
Can  least  brook  mana^ementi  however  mild, 
Tet  let  a  poet,  (poetry  disarms 
The  fiercest  animals  with  magick  charms,) 
Risk  an  mtrusion  on  tliy  pensive  mood,  ~       255 

And  woo  and  win  thee  to  tliy  proper  good. 
Pastoral  images  and  still  retreats. 
Umbrageous  walks  and  solitary  seats. 
Sweet  birds  in  concert  with  harmonious  streams, 
Sofl  airs,  nocturnal  vigils,  and  day  dreams,  2G0 

Are  all  enchantments  in  a  case  like  thine. 
Conspire  against  thy  peace  with  one  design ; 
Sooth  thee  to  make  thee  but  a  surer  prey, 
And  feed  the  fire  that  wastes  thy  powVs  away : 
Up — God  has  fovm'd  thee  witli  a  wiser  view^  205 

Not  to  be  led  in  chains,  bu(  to  subdue  ; 
Calls  thee  to  cope  with  enemies,  and  first 
Points  out  a  conflict  with  thyself,  the  worst. 
Woman,  indeed,  a  gifl  he  would  bestow 
When  he  design'd  a  Paradise  below,  270 

The  richest  earthly  boon  his  hands  afford, 
Deserves  to  be  belov'd,  but  not  ador'd. 
Post  away  swiftly  to  more  active  scenes. 
Collect  the  scatter'd  truths  that  study  gleans, 
Mix  with  the  world,  but  with  its  wiser  part,  275 

No  longer  give  an  image  all  thine  heart  j 
Its  empire  is  not  hers,  nor  is  it  thine, 
'Tis  God's  just  daim,  prerogative  divine. 

Virtuous  and  faithful  Heherderiy  whose  s}ull 
Attempts  no  task  it  cannot  well  fulfil,  290 

Gives  melancholy  up  to  Nature's  care, 
And  send  the  patient  into  purer  air. 
Look  where  he  comes — in  this  embowerM  alcove 
Stand  close  conceal'd,  and  see  a  statue  move  : 
Lids  busy,  and  eyes  fix'd,  foot  falling  slow,  SS$ 

Arms  hanging  idly  down,  hands  clasp'd  below. 


RETTIIEIV^ENT.  167 

Intof  pret  to  the  marking  eye  distress, 
Such  03  its  symptoms  can  alone  express. 
That  ton^e  is  silent  now ;  that  silent  tongQCy 
Could  argue  once,  could  jest  or  jwn  the  song,  S90 

Could  ^va  advice,  could  censure  or  commend, 
Or  cjiarm  the  sorrows  of  a  drooping  friend. 
Renounced  alike  its  office,  and  its  qK>rt, 
Its  brisker  and  its  graver  strains  fall  short ', 
Both  fail  beneath  a  fever's  secret  sway,  295 

And  like  a  summer  brook  are  pass'd  away. 
This  is  a  sight  for  pity' to  peruse, 
Till  she  resemble  feintly  what  she  views, 
Till  Sympathy  contract  a  kindred  pain, 
Pierc*d  with  the  woes  that  she  laments  in  vain.        300 
This,  of  all  maladies  that  man  infest. 
Claims  most  compassion,'  and  receives  the  least: 
Job  felt  it  when  he  groan'd  beneath  the  rod 
And  the  barb'd  arrows  of  a  frbwning  God ; 
And  such  emollients  as  his  friends  could  spare,       305 
Friends  such  as  his  for  modern  Jobs  prepare. 
•Blessed,  rather  curs'd,  with  hearts  that  hover  feel. 
Kept  snug  in  caskets  of  close-hammer*d  steel, 
With  mouths  made  only  to  grin  wide  and  eat,- 
,  And  minds  that  deem  derided  pain  a  treat,  310* 

With  limbs  of  British  oak,  and  nerves  of  wire, 
And  wit  that  puppet-prompters  might  inspire. 
Their,  sovereign  nostrum  is  a  clumsy  joke. 
On  pangs  enforced  with  God's  severest  stroke. 
But  with  a  soul,  that  ever  felt  the  sting  315 

Of  sorrow,  sorrow  is  a  sacred  thing : 
Not  to  motest,  or  irritate,  or  raise 
A  laugh  at  his  expense,  is  slender  praise : 
He  that  has  not  usurp'd  the  name  of  man. 
Does  all,  and  deems  too  little  all,  he  can,  320 

T'  assuage  the  throbbings  of  the  fester'd  part, 
^nd  stanch  the  bleedings  of  a  broken  heart* 
Tis  not  as  heads  that  never  ache  suppose, 
Forgery  of  fancy,  and  a  dream  of  woes ; 
Vol.  I.  14 


158  RETIREMENT. 

Man  18  a  harp)  whose  chords  elude  the  sight,  32S 

Each  yieldmg  harmony  disposed  aright ; 

The  screws  reversed,  (a  task  which  if  he  please 

God  in  a  moment  executes  with  ease,) 

Ten  thousand  thousand  springs  at  once  go  loose, 

Lost,  till  he  tune  them,  all  their  power  and  use.       330 

Then  neither  heathy  wilds,  nor  scenes  as  fail 

As  ever  recompensed  the  peasant^s  care, 

Nor  soft  declivities  with  tufled  hills. 

Nor  view  of  waters  turning  busy  mills. 

Parks  in  which  Art  preceptress  Nature  weds,  335 

Nor  gardens  interspersed  with  fiow*ry  beds, 

Nor  gaies,  that  catch  the  scent  of  blooming  grovef. 

And  waft  it  to  the  mourner  as  he  roves, 

Can  call  up  life  into  his  faded  eye. 

That  passes  all  he  sees  unheeded  by ;  340 

No  wounds  like  .those  a  wounded  spirit  feels. 

No  cure  for  such,  till  God,  who  makes  them,  heals. 

And  thou,  sad  sufferer  under  nameless  ill, 

That  yields  not  to  the  touch  of  human  skill, 

Improve  tlie  kind  occasion,  understand  345  . 

A  Father's  frown,  and  kiss  his  chast'ning  hand. 

To  tliee  the  day-spring  and  the  blaze  of  noon. 

The  purple  evening  and  resplendent  moon^ 

The  stars  that,  sprinkled  o'er  the  vault  of  night, 

Seem  drops  descending  in  a  show'r  of  light,  350 

Shine  not,  or  undesir'd  and  hated  shine, 

Seen  through  the  medium  of  a  cloud  like  thine  j 

Tet  seek  him,  in  liis  favour  life  is  found. 

All  bliss  beside  a  shadow  or  a  sound ; 

TJien  Heav'u  eclips'd  so  long,  and  this  dull  earth,  355 

Shall  seem  to  start  into  a  second  birth ; 

Nature,  assuming  a  more  lovely  face. 

Borrowing  a  beauty  from  the  works  of  grace, 

Shall  be  despis'd  and  overlooked  no  more, 

Shall  fill  thee  with  delights  unfelt  before,  360 

Impart  to  things  inanimate  a  voice. 

And  bids  her  mountains  and  her  hills  rejoice  * 


tf^ 


R£TIR£M£NT.  159 

The  sound  i^l  run  along  the  winding  vales, 
Ajgd  thoa  enjoy  an  Eden  ere  it  fails. 

&e  groTes>  (the  statesman  at  his  desk  ezclaimsi    96S 
6ick  of  a  thousand  disappointed  aims,) 
M/  patrimonial  treasure  and  my  pride, 
Beneath  your  shades  your  gray  possessor  hide. 
Receive  me  languishing  for  that  repose, 
The  servant  of  the  publick  never  knowi]^  370 

Ye  saw  me  once,  (ah  those  regretted  ^ays. 
When  boyish  innocence  was  all  my  praise  !) 
Qour  after  hour  delightfully  allot 
To  studies  then  familiar,  since  forgot. 
And  cultivate  a  taste  for  ancient  song, ,  37& 

Catcliing  its  ardour  as  I  mus'd  along  ; 
Nor  seldom,  as  propitious  Heav*n  might  send, 
What  once  I  valued  and  could  boast,  a  friend. 
Were  witnesses  how  cordially  I  press'd 
His  undissembling  virtue  to  my  breast ;  360 

Receive  me  now,  not  uncorrupt  as  then. 
Nor  guiltless  of  corrupting  other  men, 
But  vers'd  in  arts,  that  while  they  seem  to  stay 
A  falling  empire,  hasten  its  decay, 
Tp  the  fair  haven  of  my  native  home,  385, 

The  wreck  of  what  I  was,  fatigued  I  come ; 
For  once  I  can  approve  the  patriot's  voice, 
And  make  the  course  he  recommends  my  choice : 
We  meet  at  last  in  one  sincere  desire. 
His  wish  and  mine  both  prompt  me  to  retire.  390 

Tis  done— he  steps  into  the  welcome  chaise, 
Lolls  at  his  ease  behind  four  handsome  bays^ 
That  whirl  away  from  business  and  debate 
The  disencumber'd  Atlas  of  the  state. 
Ask  not  the  boy,  who,  when  the  breeze  of  mom       305 
First  shakes  the  glitt'ring  drops  firom  ev*ry  thoniy , 
0nfolds  his  flock,  then  under  bank  or  bush 
Siis  linking  cherry  stones,  or  platting  rush, 
How  fair  is  freedom ! — he  was  always  free  * 
To  carve  his  rustick  name  upon  a  tree,  400 


160  RETIREMENT 

To  snare  the  mole,  or  with  ill-fiishio^*d  hook  ^ 

To  draw  the  iucauttous  mifmow  from  the  birool^ 

Are  life's  prime  pleasures  in  his  simple  y^oWf 

His  flock  the  chief  cdncem  he  erer  knew } 

She  shines  but  little  in  his  heedless  oyes,     *  40i 

The  good  we  never  miss  we  rarely  priae : 

But  ask  tire  noble  dradge  in  state  afikin^ 

Escap'd  from  office  and  its  constant  careS| 

What  charms  he  sees  in  Freedom's  smile  MrpfiBi^ 

In  Freedom  lost  so  long,  now  repossess'd ;  416 

The  tongue,  whose  strains  were  cogeM  as  eoHttiUiiif 

Rever'd  at  home,  and  felt  in  foreign  lands, 

Shall  own  itself  a  stammerer  in  that  eausei 

Or  plead  its  silence  as  its  best  applause. 

He  knows,  indeed,  that,  whether  dressed  or  ntAtf    410 

Wild  without  art,  or  artfUly  subdu'd, 

Nature  in  ev'ry  form  inspires  delight. 

But  never  mark'd  her  with  so  just  a  sight. 

Her  hedge-row  shrubs,  a  variegated  store,  *    • 

With  woodbine,  and  wild  roses  mantled  o'er,  40^ 

Green  balks  and  furrow'd  lands,   tlio   stretuoy  UtA 

spreads 
Its  cooling  vapour  o*er  the  dewy  meads, 
Downs,  that  almost  escape  th'  inquiring  eye. 
That  molt  and  fade  into  the  distant  sky, 
Beauties  he  lately  slighted  as  he  pass'd,  499 

Seem  all  created  since  he  travelled  last. 
Master  of  ail  th'  enjoyments  he  designed. 
No  rough  annoyance  rankling  in  his  mind. 
What  early  philosophick  hours  he  keeps. 
How  regular  liis  meals,  how  sound  he  sleeps !  430 

Not  sounder  he,  that  on  the  mednmast  head, 
While  morning  kindles  with  a  windy  red. 
Begins  a  long  look-out  ^r  distant  land, 
Nor  quits  till  evening  %vatcH  his  giddy  sta^^ 
Tlion,  swifl  descending  with  a  seaman's  haste^       "435' 
Slips  to  his  hammock,  and  forgets  tire  blast. 


RETIREMENT.  161 

He  chooses  eompany,  but  not  the  squire'Si 
Whose  wit  is  rudeness,  whose  good  breeding  tiros ; 
Nor  jet  the  parson^  who  would  gladly  come, 
Obsequious  when  abroad,  though  proud  at  home ;.  440 
Nor  can  he  much  afiect  the  neighb'ring  peef. 
Whose  toe  of  emulation  treads -top  near  } 
But  wisely  seeks  a  more  conyenient  friend 
With  whom,  dismissing  forms,  he  may  unbend 
A  man,  wHom  marks  of  condescending  grace  445 

Teachy  while  they  flatter  him,  his  proper  place , 
Who  comes  when  called,  and  at  a  word  withdraws, 
Speaks  with  reserve,  and  listens  witli  applause ; 
Some  plain  mechanick,  who,  without  pretence 
To  birth  or  wit,  nor  gives  nor  takes  offence ;  450 

On  whom  he  rests  well  pleas'd  his  weary  powers. 
And  talks  and  laughs  away  his  vacant  hours. 
The  tide  of  life,  swift  always  in  its  course, 
May  run  in  cities  with  a  bridier  force. 
But  no  where  with  a  current  so  serene,  455 

Or  half  so  clear,  as  in  the  rural  scene. 
Yet  how  fallacious  is  all  eartiily  bliss, .. 
What  obvious  truths  the  wisest  heads  may  miss 
Some  pleasures  live  a  month,  and  some  a  year, 
But  short  the  date  of  all  wo  gather  here ;  460 

No  happiness  is  felt,  except  the  true, 
Tb&t  does  not  charm  the  more  for  being  new. 
This  observation,  as  it  chanc'd,  not  made, 
Or,  if  the  thought  occurred  not  duly  weighed, 
He  sighs — ^for,  after  all,  by  slow  degrees  465 

The  spot  he  lov*d  has  lost  the  pow*r  to  please 
To  cross  his  ambling  pony  day  by  day. 
Seems  at  the  best  but  dreaming  life  away ; 
The  prospect,  such  as  might  enchant  despairi 
He  views  it  not,  or  sees  no  beauty  there ;  470 

With  aching  heart,  and  discontented  looks,  ^ 

Returns  at  noon  to  billiards  or  to  books, 
But  feels,  while  grasping  at  his  f9.ded  joys, 
A  secret  thirst  of  his  renoimc'd  employs 

14- 


102  RETIREMENT. 

He  chides  the  tardiness  of  ev*rj  post,  436 

Pants  to  be  told  of  battles  won  or  lost. 

Blames  ])is  own  indolence,  observes,  thod^b  kiley 

Tis  criminal  to  leave  a  unking  state,  * 

Flies  to  the  levee,  and,  receiv*d  with  graOOy 

Knisels,  kisses,  hands,  and  shines  again  m  pklc^      4S^ 

Suburban  villas,  highwaj^  side  retreats. 
That  dread  th'  encroachment  of  our  growini^#ftrjeM% 
Tight  boxes  neatly  sash'd,  and  in  a  blassd 
With  all  a  July  sun's  collected  rays, 
Delight  the  citizen,  who,  gasping  there,  46$ 

Breathes  clouds  of  dust,  auid  calls  it  coutrtry  air. 
O  sweet  retirement,  who  would  balk  the  th4yii^^< 
That  could  afford  retirement,  or  6ould  not  P 
'Tis  such  an  easy  walk,  so  smooth  and  stradglit^ 
The  second  milestone  fronts  the  garden  g«te-;         490 
A  step  if  fair,  and  if  a  show'r  approach, 
Tou  find  safe  shelter  in  the  next  stage  ooathw 
There  prison'd  in  a  parlour  snug  and  small. 
Like  bottled  wasps  upon  a  sou^em  wall, 
The  man  of  business  and  his  friends  oompvessV},     49& 
Forget  their  labours,  and  yet  find  no  rest ; 
But  still  'tis  rural — ^trees  are  to  be  seen 
From  ev'ry  window,  and  the  fields  are  gre&n  ?  ^ 
Ducks  paddle  in  the  pond  before  the  door. 
And  what  could  a  remoter  scene  show  iii&t0  ?         600 
A  sense  of  elegance  we  rardy  find 
The  portion  of  a  mean  or  vulgar  mind, 
And  ignorance  of  better  things  nu&es  maH^ 
Who  cannot  nrach,  rejoice  in  what  he  can ; 
And  he  that  deems  his  leisure  well  bestow'd  60& 

In  contemplation  of  a  tumpiko  road. 
Is  occupied  as  well,  employs  his  hours 
As  wisely,  and  as  much  improves  his  pow'rsi 
As  he  tliat  slumbers  in  pavilions  grac'd 
Witli  all  the  charms  of  an  accomplish'd  taslot  51ft 

Yet  hence,  alas !  insolvencies ;  and  hence 
The  unpitied  victim  of  ill-judg*d  expense, 


rsrsajcai* 


RETIKEMENl'.  163 

From  all  his  weansome  engagemelitfl  freed. 
Shakes  hands  with  bwdiiete,  and  retires  indeed. 

Tour  prudent  grandmammas,  ye  modem  belles^  blBf 
Content  with  Bristol,  BoUr,  and  Tonbridge  wells^ 
When  health  reqnir'd  it  would  eonsent  to  roaiB» 
Else  more  attach'd  to  pleamued  Ibond  at  hone. 
But  now  alike,  gay  widow,  virgin,  wife, 
Ingenions  todivensiff  <fedl  life,  €00 

In  coaches,  chsuses,  caraTans,  and  hoyS) 
Ry  to  the  coast  for  dally,  nightly  joys, 
And  all,  impatient  of  dryland,  agree ' 
With  one  consent  to  rash  into  the  sea-* 
Ocean  exhibits,  fkthovnless  and  broad,  605 

Much  of  the  pow*r  and  majesty  of  (JoiJ. 
He  swathes  about  theswelfting  of  the  deep. 
That  shines  afiid  restrasinfkd'ts  sn:^  andsleepr; 
Vast  as  it  is,  it  answers  as  it 'flows 
The  breathings  of  the  lightest  air  that  Mows;         839 
Curling  ajid  whitMteg  over  all  th6  'v^aste. 
The  rising  wavfes  obey  th*  increasmg  blast, 
Abrupt  aM  h^trid'anthe  tempest  roars j 
Thundef  and  Hash  ttpon  the  steadfkst  shories, 
Till  he  that  ri<lB8  the  whitlwfaid,  checks  the  reiay    635 
Then  all  the  werld  bf  wiaters  sleep  again. — 
Kereids  or  Dryads,  aisthe^hian  leads> 
Now  in  the  flocfdr,  rfcW  panting  in  the  ntoadsy 
Vot'ries  of  pleastfre  still,  wherever  she  dweMs, 
Near  barren  rocks,  in  pakces,  or  celh^  540 

O  grant  a  p^tle^e  id  recommend, 
(A  poet  fi)tfd  of  Nature,  and  yonr  friend,) 
Her  slighted  wbrfts  to  y<mr  admiring  view ; 
Her  works  must  needs  excel,  who  fkshi<m*d  you. 
Would  ye,  when  raiftbling  in  your  morning  ridCj     545 
With  some  unmeaiiirtg  coxcomb  at  your  side, 
Condemn  the  prattler  fbt  his  idle  pains. 
To  waste  unheard  the  miisfck  of  his  strains. 
And,  deaf  to  all  th*  impertinence  of  tongue. 
That,  while  it  courts,  affronts  and  does  you  wrong,  560^ 


ii== 


164  RETIREMENT. 

Mark  woll  tlie  finished  plan  without  a  fault, 

The  seas  globose  and  huge,  th*  o*erarching  Tftiiit, 

Earth*!  milliona  daily  fed,  a  worid  employ'd, 

In  gath*ring  plenty  jret  to  be  enjoy'd. 

Till  gratitude  grew  roeal  in  the  praise  556 

Of  God  beneficent  in  all  his  ways ; 

Grac'd  with  such  wisdom,  how  woold  beauty  sbiae  f 

Te  want  but  that  to  seem  indeed  dlrine. 

Anticipated  rents,  and  bills  unpaid, 
Force  many  a  shining  youth  into  the  shade,  560 

Not  to  redeem  his  time,  but  his  estate, 
And  play  the  fool,  but  at  a  cheaper  rate. 
There,  hid  in  loth*d  obscurity,  remoy*d 
From  pleasures  left,  but  nerer  more  beloy'd, 
He  just  endures,  and  with'  a  sickly  spleen  565 

Sighs  o*er  the  beauties  of  the  charming  scene ; 
Nature  indeed  looks  prettily  in  rhyme ; 
Streams  tinkle  sweetly  in  poetick  chime ; 
The  warblings  of  the  blac)d>ird,  clear  and  strong, 
Are  musical  enough  in  Thomson*s  song ;  570 

And  Cobham*s  groves,  and  '\^^d8or's  green  retreats. 
When  Pope  describes  them,  have  a  thousand  sweets ; 
He  Ukes  the  country,  t»ut  in  truth  must  own, 
Most  Ukes  it,  when  he  studies  it  in  town. 

Poor  Jack— no  matter  who— for  when  I  blame,    575 
I  pity,  and  must  therefore  sink  the  name, 
LivM  in  his  saddle,  lov*d  the  chace,  the  course. 
And  always,  ere  he  mounted,  kiss*d  his  horse. 
The  estate  his  sires  had  own'd  in  ancient  years. 
Was  quickly  distanc'd,  matched  against  a  peer's.       580 
Jack  vanish'd,  was  regretted  and  forgot ; 
*Tis  wild  good  nature  *8  never-failing  lot. 
At  length,  when  all  had  long  supposed  him  dead. 
By  cold  submersion,  razor,  rope,  or  lead. 
My  lord,  alighting  at  his  usual  place,  585 

The  Crown,  took  notice  of  an  ostler's  face. 
Jack  knew  his  friend,  but  hop'd  in  that  disguise 
Ho  might  escape  the  most  observing  eyes ; 


RETIREMENT.*  185 

And  whisUing,  as  if  unconcerned  &nd  gay. 
Curried  his  nag^and  look'd  another  way.  500 

Convinc'd  at  laA,  upon  a  nearer  view, 
TiWui  ho,'  the  sarnie,  tho  very  Jack  he  knew, 
0*6Twhe1m'd  at  once  with  wonder,  grief,  and  joy^ 
He  press'd  him  much  to  quit  his  base  ompk>y  ; 
His  counteiKUicd,.  his  pui^e,  his  heart,  his  hand>      bOo 
Influence  and  pow'r,  were  all  at  his  conmiaiid  t 
Peers  are  not  always  generous  as  well-bred, 
But  Granby  was,  meant  truly  what  he  said. 
Jack  bow'd,  and  was  oblig'd — con^ss'd  'ttras  strange, 
That  so  retir'd  he  should  not  wish  a  chai^o,  GOO 

But  knew  no  medium  between  guzriing  beer, 
And  liis  old  stint — three  thousand  pounds  a  yetir* 

Thus  some  retire  toi  nourish  hopeless  wo : 
Some  seeking  happiness  not  found  below ; 
Some  to  comply  with  humour,  and  a  mind  C05 

To  social  scenes  by  nature  diftincUn'd  ; 
Some  sway'd  by  fashioui  some  hy  deep  disgust ; 
Some  self-impoverish'd,  ^d  beo&use  tljcy  must  y 
But  few,  that  court  Retirement,  are  aware 
Of  half  the  toils  they  must  encounter  thc^e.  CIO 

Lucrative  offices  are  seldom  lost 
For  want  of  pow*rs  proportioned  to  the  post : 
Give  e'en  a  dunce  th'  employment  he  dosirosy 
And  he  soon  /inds  the  talents  it  requires ; 
A  business  with  on  income  at  its  heels  615 

Furnishes  always  oil  for  its  own  wheels. 
Bat  in  his  arduous  enterprise  to  close 
HIk  active  years  with  indolent  repose. 
Ho  finds  the  labours  of  tliat  state  exceed 
tHi  utmost  faculties,  severe  indeed.  620 

*Tis  easy  to  resign  a  toilsome  place, 
But  not  to  manago  leisure  With  a  grace  ; 
Absence  of  occupation  is  not  rest, 
A  mind  quite  vacant  is  a  mind  distress*d. 
The  vetVan  steed,  excus'd  his  task  at  length,  625 

In  kind  compassion  of  his  failing  streijgth, 


im  RETIREMENT. 

And  tum'd  into  the  park  or  moad  to  graze, 

Exempt  from  future  service  all  his  days, 

Theie  feels  a  pleasure  perfect  in  its  kind, 

Ranges  at  liberty,  and  snuffs  the  wind :  630 

But  when  his  lord  would  quit  the  busy  road, 

To  taste  a  joy  like  that  he  had  bestow'd. 

He  proves,  less  happy  than  his  fiivour'd  bmte, 

A  life  of  ease  a  difficult  pursuit. 

Thought,  to  the  man  that  never  thinks,  may  seom  iOS 

As  natural  as  when  asleep  to  dream ; 

But  reveries,  (for  human  minds  will  act,) 

Specious  in  show,  impossible  in  fact. 

Those  flimsy  webs,  that  break  as  soon  as  wrought, 

Attain  not  to  the  dignity  of  thought :  6M 

Nor  yet  the  swarms  that  occupy  the  brain. 

Where  dreams  of  dress,  intrigue,  and  pleasure  reign; 

Nor  such  as  useless  conversation  breeds. 

Or  lust  engenders,  and  indulgence  feeds. 

Whence,  and  what  are  we  f  to  what  end  ordain*d  ?  645 

What  means  the  drama  by  the  world  sustain'd  ? 

Business  or  vain  amusement,  care  or  mirth, 

Divide  the  frail  inhabitants  of  earth. 

Is  duty  a  mere  sport,  of  an  employ  ? 

Life  an  intrusted  talent,  or  a  toy  f  '€60 

Is  there,  as  reason,  conscience.  Scripture  say, 

Cause  to  provide  for  a  great  fiitUre  day. 

When  earth's  assigned  duration  at  an  end, 

Man  shall  be  summoned  and  the  dead  attend  ? 

Tlie  trunpet — will  it  sound  ?  the  curtain  rise  ?         €65 ' 

And  show  tlie  august  tribunal  of  the  skies,  ^ 

Where  no  prevarication  shall  avail, 

Where  eloquence  and  artifice  shall  ftil>  ^ 

The  pride  of  arrogant  distinctions  fall, 

And  cqnscience  and  our  conduct  judge  us  all  ?         600 

Pardon  me,  ye  that  give  the  midnight  oil 

To  learned  cares  of  philosophick  toil. 

Though  I  revere  your  honourable  names. 

Your  useful  labours  and  important  aims. 


I- 


RETIREMENT.  167 

And  hold  the  world  indebted  to  your  aid,  666 

Enrich'd  with  the  discov'ries  ye  have  made  ; 
Tet  let  me  stand  ezcus'd,  if  I  esteem 
A  mind  employed  on  so  sublime  a  theme, 
Poshing  her  bold  inquiry  to  the  date 
*  And  outline  of  the  present  transient  state,  67B 

And  after  poising  her  advent'rous  wings. 
Settling  at  last  upon  eternal  things. 
Far  more  intelligent,  and  better  taught 
The  strenuous  use  of  profitable  thought, 
Than  ye,  when  happiest,  and  enlightened  most,       675 
And  highest  in  renown^  can  justly  boast. 
A  mind  unnerv*d,  or  indispos'd  to  bear 
The  weight  of  subjects  worldliest  of  her  care. 
Whatever  hopes  a  change  of  scene  inspires. 
Must  change  her  nature,  or  in  vain  retires.  960 

An  idler  is  a  watch  that  wants  both  hands ; 
As  useless  if  it  goes,  as  when  it  stands. 
Books,  therefore,  not  the  scandal  of  the  shelves, 
In  which  lewd  sensualists  print  out  themselves ; 
Nor  those  in  which  the  stage  gives  vice  a  blow,       685 
With  what  succ^bss  let  modem  manners  show ; 
Nor  his,  who,  for  the  bane  of  thousands  bom, 
Biiilt  God  a  church,  and  laugh'd  his  word  to  teom, 
Skilful  alike  to  seem  devout  and  just. 
And  stab  religion  with  a  sly  side-thrust ;  600 

Nor  those  of  learned  philologists,  who  chase 
A  panting  syllable  through  time  and  space. 
Start  it  at  home,  and  hunt  it  in  the  dark, 
To  Gaol,  to  Greece,  and  iilto  Noah's  ark ; 
But  such  as  learning  without  false  pretence,  605 

The  firiend  of  troth,  th*  associate  of  good  sense. 
And  such  as,  la  the  zeal  of  good  design. 
Strong  judgment  laboring  in  thd  Scripture  minOi 
All  such  as  manly  and  great  souls  produce. 
Worthy  to  live,  and  of  etemal  use ;  700 

Behold  in  these  what  leisure  hours  demand. 
Amusement  and  trae  knowledge  hand  in  hand. 


m  RETIHEMENT. 

Luxury  given  the  mind  a  childish  cast, 

Audi  while  die  p<^iabM,  perverts  the  taste ; 

Habits  of  close  attefitioB,  thinking  hoods,  70&' 

Become  more  mcefts  4i«Hpatioii  spreads, 

Till  authors  hear  nl  length  one  gen'ral  cry, 

Tickle  and  entMtain  us,  of  we  die. 

The  loud  demand,  $rofn  year  to  year  the  same. 

Beggars  Invention,  anti  m^es  Fancy  lame ',  710 

Till  farce  itself  most  moumfmiy  jejune, 

Calls  for  the  kind  assistance  of  a  tune ; 

And  novels,  (witness  ev^y  month's  review,) 

Belie  their  name,  and  <«^  nothing  new. 

The  mind,  relaxing  Into  needful  sport,  715 

Should  turn  to  writers  of  an  ahler  sort, 

Whose  wit  well  maaag^cl,  and  whose  classiek  styki| 

Give  truth  a  lui^re,  and  make  wisdom  sirule. 

Friends,  (for  I  cannot  stint,  as  some  have  done, 

Too  rigid  in  my  view,  that  name  to  one  ;  720 

Though  one,  I  grant  it,  in  the  gen'rous  brea^ 

Will  stand  advanced  a  step  above  the  resi; 

Flow'rs  by  that  name  promiscuoualy  we  call. 

But  one,  the  rose,  the  regent  of  thorn  aU,)'*<^ 

Friends,  not  adopted  with  a  schoolboy's  haste,  796 

But  chosen  with  a  nice  discerning  taste, 

Well  born,  well  disoipUn'd,  who,  plae'd  apart 

From  vulgar  mind^  hate  honour  much  at  heait, 

And  though  the  world  may  think  the  ingredients  odd, 

I'he  love  of  virtue,  and  the  fear  of  God !  730 

Such  friends  prevent  whal  els9  woM  foon  sqcse^d, 

A  temper  ru^iok  as  the  life  \re  lead» 

And  keep  the  pdWb  of  the  mani^^s  clean, 

As  theirs  who  bustle  in  (ho  husieot  seeae  l 

For  solitude,  h^wevetr  some  may  raw,  ^  796 

Seemmg  a.  sanctuary,  proves  a  graven 

A  sepulchre,  m  which  the  living  lie. 

Whore  all  good  qualities  grow  sick  and  lUo. 


-rfj 


RETIREMENT.  160 

I  praise  tho  Frenckmaa/  hit  remark  was  ahcswd— * 
How  sweet,  how  paasm^  sweet  is  aolitncb !  940 

But  j^rant  me  still  a  fiiend  in  my  ratreat, 
Whom  I  may  whisper— «olknd9  is  sweet. 
Tet  neither  these  ctelights,  nor  aof  ht  beside, 
^lat  i^petlte  can  ask,  or  wealth  provide, 
Can  save  us  always  from  a  tedious  day,  745 

p.'        Or  shine  the  dnlness  of  still  li£i  away; 
Divine  commnmon,  cara&lly  enjoyed. 
Or  sought  with  enei;gy,  must  fin  the  voML 
O  sacred  art,  to  which  alone  Uh  owes 
Its  happiest  seasons,  and  a  peaceftil  close  ;  769 

Seom'd  in  a  world,  indebted  to  that  scorn 
For  evils  daily  felt,  and  har<Uy  borne. 
Not  knowing  thee,  we  reap  with  bleo^g  nands 
llow'rs  of  rank  odonir  upon  thorny  Iandi9, 
And  whije  Experience  cautions  ns  in  vain,  96S 

Grasp  seeming  happiness,  and  find  it  pain. 
Despondence,  self-desertod  in  her  griei^ 
Lost  by  abandoning^  her  own  r^ief, 
Mi^rmuring  snd  nngvatefiil  discontent, 
That  scorns  afflictions  merciftdly  meant,  7$S 

Those  humours  tart  as  wine  upon  the  firet, 
Which  idleness  and  weariness  beget ; 
These,  and  a  thousand  plagues,  that  haunt  the  breast, 
fVmd  of  the  phantom  of  an  earthly  rest, 
Divine  communion  chases,  as  the  day  765 

Drives  to  their  dons  th*  obedient  beasts  of  prey. 
See  Judah;#  |Mreniii'd  kmg,  berea  of  ill, 
Driv'n  out  an  exile  firom  the  fiice  of  Saul ; 
To  distant  caves  the  lonely  wand'rer  flies, 
To  seek  that  peace  a  tyrants  frown  denies.  '^> 

Hear  the  sweet  accents  of  his  tune  Ail  voice. 
Hear  him,  o'erwhelm'd  with  sorrow,  yet  rejmce  ; 
No  womanish  or  wailing  grief  has  part. 
No,  not  a  moment,  in  his  royal  heart  ; 

*  Bruy^re. 
Vol.  I.  ir» 


170  RETIREMENT. 

'Tis  manly  musick,  such  as  martjrs  make,  77B 

Saff 'ring  with  gladness  for  a  Saviour's  sake ; 

His  soul  exults,  hope  animates  his  lays, 

The  sense  of  mercy  kindles  into  praise. 

And  wilds,  familiar  with  a  lion's  roar, 

Ring  with  ocstatick  soonds  unheard  before ;  980 

Tis  love  like  his,  that  can  alone  defeat 

The  foes  of  man,  or  make  a  desert  sweet. 

Religion  does  not  censure  or  exclude 
Unnumber'd  {Measures  harmlessly  pursu'd  ; 
To  study  culture,  and  with  artful  toil  78S 

To  meliorate  and  tame  the  stubborn  soil ; 
To  give  dissimilar,  yet  fruitful  lands. 
The  grain,  or  herb,  or  plant,  that  each  dexnandi ; 
To  cherish  virtue  in  an  humble  state, , 
And  share  tlie  joys  your  bounty  may  create ;  990 

To  mark  the  matchless  workings  of  the  pow'r. 
That  shuts  within  its  seed  the  future  flow'r, 
Bid  those  m  elegance  of  form  excel. 
In  colour  these,  and  those  delight  the  smell , 
Sends  nature  forth,  the  daughter  of  the  sine*,  99B 

To  dance  on  earth,  and  charm  all  human  eyee , 
To  teach  the  canvass  innocent  deceit. 
Or  lay  the  landscape  on  the  snoM^  sheets 
Theso,  these  sre  arts  pursu'd  without  a  crime, 
That  leave  no  stain  upon  the  wing  of  Time.  800 

Mo  poetry,  (or  rather  notes  that  aim 
Feebly  pnd  vainly  at  poetiok  fiune,) 
Emplovfi.  .shut  out  from  more  important  viewi, 
Fast  bv  the  banks  of  the  sIow*winding  Ouso  | 
Content  ifthus«f^uester'd  I  may  raise  805 

A  mnnitor*8  though  not  a  poet's  praise. 
And  while  I  teach  an  art  too  little  known, 
To  close  hfe  wisely,  may  not  waste  my  own 


THE  YEARLY  DISTRESS, 


«        TITHUro  TIMS  AT  STOCK,  IV  E88XX. 

VtTBOB  addressed  to  a  country  clergyman,  eomplainliig 
of  the  disagreeableness  of  the  day  annually  appoint 
ed  for  receiyin^  the  dues  at  the  parsonage. 


COME,  ponder  well,  for  'tis  no  Jost, 
To  laugh  it  would  be  wrong, 

-The  troubles  of  a  worthy  priest, " 
The  burden  of  my  song. 

The  priest  he  merry  is  and  blithe, 
Three  quarters  of  the  year, 

But,  oh !  it  cuU  hhn  like  a  sithe, 
When  tithing  time  draws  neai. 

He  then  is  full  of  fHghts  and  &^t% 

As  one  at  point  to  die, 
And  long  before  the  day  appeals, 

He  heaves  lyi  many  a  sigh. 

For  then  the  farmers  come,  jog,  jog, 

Along  the  miry  road, 
Each  heart  as  heavy  as  a  log, 

To  make  their  payments  good. 


*«S: 


172  THE  YEARLY  DIStRESS. 

In  soothy  the  Borrow  of  such  diyi 

U  iiojt  to  be  expressed, 
When  he  that  takes,  and  he  that  pay^ 

Are  both  alike  distren'd. 

Now  all  unwelcome  at  hia  gates 

The  clumsy  swains  alight. 
With  rueful  feces  and  bald  pate*-^ 

He  trembles  at  the  nghIL 

And  well  he  may,  for  we]>  he  kiiowf 

Each  bumpkin  of  the  eian, 
Instead  of  paying  what  he  owes, 

Will  cheat  mm  if  he  ctttt.  4 

80  in  they  eomei — each  makorhia  leg. 

And  flings  his  head  before, 
And  looks  as  if  he  came  to  bog, 

And  not  to  quit  a  score. 

**  And  how  does  misff  ahd  madam  do, 

«  The  little  boy,  and  all  ?" 
"  All  tight  and  well.    And  how  do  yon 

«  Good  Mr.  Wliat-d'ye-call  ?'• 

The  dinner  comes,  and  down  they  tH 
Wore  e'er  such  hungry  folk  ? 

There's  little  talking,  and  no  wit ; 
It  is  no  time  to  joke. 

One  wipes  his  nose  upon  his  sleeve. 

One  spits  upon  the  floor. 
Yet  not  to  give  offence  or  grievOi 

Holds  up  the  cloth  before. 

The  punch  goes  round,  and  they  arc  doll 

And  lumpish  still  as  over ; 
Ijike  barrels  with  their  bellies  fbU| 

They  only  weigh  the  heavier. 


C3=» 


THE  YEARLY  DISTRESS. 
At  lenfth  the  busy  time  bog^, 
**  Come,  neighbomri,  we  must  wag — ** 
Tke  money  chinks,  down  drop  their  ehfaii| 
Each  lajrging  out  his  banf. 

One  talks  of  mildew  and  of  firost, 

And  one  of  storms  of  hail. 
And  one  ^pigs,  that  he  has  lost 

By  maggots  at  the  taiL 

Qootlii  €BM, '<  A  rarer  man  than  yoit 

« In  polpit  none  shall  he«r  i  . 
**  But  yet,  ipethinks,  to  tell  you  true, 

«  You  sell  it  plaguy  dear." 

O  why  are  farmers  made  so  coarse 

Or  clergy  made  so  fine  ? 
A  kick  that  scarce  would  move  a  horM| 

May  kill  a  sound  divine. 

Then  let  the  boobies  stay  at  homft ; 
Twould  cost  him,  I  dare  say, 

I  trouble  talung  twice  the  sum 
Without  the  clowns  that 


173 


(174) 

t 

SONNET 

▲DDRBssxiy  to  uj£VftY  edyntkj  xi^' 

On  hit  emplMittB«I  and  hili^eMbig'  MMiifjt  o€  ike 
defimce  of  Wanml  flcurtixigtf,  B^:  in  "ffi*  'Home  of 
Lords. 


COWPER.  whose  silver  yoice,  taskM  sbmetimioa  hard 

Legends  prolix  delivers  in  tlie  oars, 

(Attentive  when  thoa  read'st,)  of  England^!  peers, 
Let  Torse  at  longUi  yield  thee  thy  just  Toward. 

Thou  wast  not  hea^d  with  drowsy  disregard. 
Expending  late  on  all  that  length  of  plea 
Thy  gen*rou8  powers,  bat  idlence  honour'd  thee, 

Mnte  as  e'er  gaz*d  on  orator  or  bard. 

Thou  art  not  voice  alone,  hot  hast  beside 
Both  heart  and  head ;  and  couldst  with  musick  sweet 
Of  Attick  phrase  and  senatorial  tone, 
Ijike  thy  renown'd  forefathers,  far  and  wide 
Thy  &mo  diffbse,  prais'd  not  for  utt'rance  meet 
Of  others  spe^sh,  but  magick  of  thy  own. 


(IK) 

LINES, 
ADDRESSED  TO  DR.  DARWm, 
Anthot  of  <<  The  Botanick  Gaiden." 


TWO  Poets  •(pdetaby^wport,   . 

Not  oft  BO  well  agreo,) 
Sweet  hannoniete^l^Klan't  cool! 

Conspire  to  honour  Theeu 

They  best  can  jodgfi  a  poet's  worik 
Who  oft  themaelyes  hare  luKNiii 

The  pangs  of  &  poetick  birth 
By  labours  of  their  own. 

We  therefore  pleas'd  eztd  thy  Mug 
Though  various  yet  complete^ 

Rich  in  embellishment  as  strong 
And  learned  as  ^Us  sweet. 

'  NoenTymingleiwi^oitf  pntey 
Though,  covftdottr  he^brti  rephie 
At  any  poet's  hapfner  lays, 
They  would— 4hey  must  at  tfiin^ 

But  we  in  mutual  bondage  hili* 

Of  friendship's  cloeest  Me, 
Can  gaxe  on  even  Darwin'e  wil 

With  an  unjaundio'd  vy  | 

And  deem  the  Bard,  wHoo'er  he  be. 

And  howsoever  known, 
Who  would  not  twine  ^  wreath  for  Thet, 

Unworthy  of  his  owni. 

•  Mttdinf  /r  ike  pwein  ky  Mr.  m^tt^;  wMk  - 
eompanied  these  Unes. 


It 


(176) 


MRS.  MONTAOm  FEATHER  HAN& 
INGS. 


THE  Birds  put  off  their  ey'iy  hue. 
To  dress  a  rodm  for  Montagu. 
y      The  Peacoak  sends  his  hearenly  dyes, 
'    His  rainbows  and  his  starry  eyes  ; 

Tlie  Pheasant  plumes,  which  round  infold 
His  mantling  neck  witli  downy  gold  ; 
The  Cock  his  arch'd  tail's  azure  show  f 
.    And,  river-blanch 'd,  the  Swan  his  snow 
All  tribes  beside  of  Indian  name, 
That  glossy  shine,  or  vivid  flame, 
Where  rises  and  whore,  sets  the  da^, 
Whate'er  they  boost  pf  ric^  and  gay,  . 
Contribute  to  the  gorgeous  j>Un« 
Proud  to  advance  it  all  they  can. 
This  plumage  neither  dashing  show*r, 
Nor  blasts  that  shrike  the  dripping  bo^r. 
Shall  drench-  again  or  discompoM, 
But,  screened  from  every  storm  that  bloirv, 
It  boasts  a  splendour  ever  new,  • 
Safe  with  protecting  Montagu. 

To  this  same  patroness' resort, 
Secure  of  favour  at  her  court, 
Strong  Genius,  from  whose  forge  of  thought 
Forms  rise,  to  quick  perfection  wrought, 
Which^  though  new-b<mi,  with  yigoor  mOTB, 
Like  Pallas  springing  arm'd  from  Jov»— 


ON  MRS.  MONTAGU'S  HANGINGS.      177 

Imagination  scattering  round 
Wild  roses  over  furrow'd  ground. 
Which  Labour  of  his  frown  begoilO| 
And  teach  Philosophy  a  smil^— 
Wit  flashing  on  Religion's  ude. 
Whose  fires  to  sacred  Truth  applied| 
The  gem,  though  luminous  before, 
Obtjrudes  on  humi(in  notice  more. 
Like  sunbeams  on  the  golden  helgkl 
Of  some  tall  temple  playing  bright— 
WeU-tutor'd  Learning,  firom  his  bookf 
Dismiss'd  with  grave,  not  haughty,  looki 
Their  order  on  his  shelves  exact, 
Not  more  harmonious  or  compact 
Thfm  that  to  whicli  he  keeps  confin*^ 
The  Tarious  treasures  of  his  mind^ 
All  these  to  Montagu's  repair, 
Ambitious  pf  a  shelter  ther^  t 
There  Genius,  Learning,  Fancy,  tVh, 
Their  ruffled  plumage  calm  refit, 
(For  stormy  troubles  loudest  roar 
Around  their  flight  who  Ughost  mMji 
And  in  her  eye,  and  by  her  aid. 
Shine  safe  without  a  fi»ar  to  Hide. 

She  thus  mamtite  ^Md^vwnf 
With  yon  briglit  regent  of  die  dty 
The  plume  and  poet  b6&k,  we  kitoir^ ' 
Their  lustre  to  Uii  htllheiic<^  owe ; 
Apd  she  the  woridr  of  PRiJ^tfs  aidttliK 
Both  poet  saves  and  plume  fiom  fiiding. 


(178) 


VERSES 


Supposed  to  he  written  hy  Alexander  SeUtirkf  during 
kit  BolUary  abode  on  the  island  ofJnamFemtmdcz. 


I. 

I  AM  monarch  of  all  I  survey, 
My  right  thore  is  none  to  dispute .; 

From  the  centre  all  round  to  the  sea, 
I  am  lord  of  the  fowl  and  the  brute. 

0  Solitude  !  where  are  the  charms 
That  sages  have  seen  in  thy  face  f 

Better  dwell  in  the  midst  of  alarms,      * 
Than  reign  in  this  horrible  place. 
IL 

1  am  out  of  humanity's  reach, 

I  must  finish  my  journey  alone,  . 
Never  hear  the  s^^eet  musick  of  qieeob^ 

I  start  at  the  found  of  ny  owB. 
The  beasts  that  roam  oyer  the  pla«% 

My  form  with  uidi£5»raice  see ; 
They  are  so  unacquainted  with  maiii 

Their  tameneas  is  shocking  to  ne. 

in. 

Society,  fiiendship,  and  love, 

Divinely  bestowed  upon  nAn, 
O  had  I  the  wings  of  a  dove. 

How  soon  would  I  taste  you  again  ' 
My  sorrows  I  then  might  assuage 

In  the  ways  of  religion  and  truth, 
Might  learn  firom  the  wisdom  of  ago. 

And  be  cheered  by  the  sallies  of  youth 


VERSES  Br  ALEXANDER  SELKIRK.    179 
IV. 
Religion !  what  treasure  untold 

Resides  in  that  heavenly  word ! 
More  precious  than  silTer  and  gold. 

Or  all  that  this  earth  can  afford. 
But  the  sound  of  the  church-gdng  bell 

Tbeee'TaSAy?  and  rocks  nerot  hfrnti. 
Never  sighed  at  the  sound  of  a  kneU, 

Or  smil'd  when  a  sahbath  appeared 

V. 

Te  vrinds  that  have  made  me  your  sport. 

Convey  to  this  desolate  shore 
Some  cordial  endearing  report 

Of  a  land  I  shall  visit  no  more. 
My  friends,  do  they  now  and  then  send 

A  wish  or  a  thought  after  me  ? 
O  toll  me  I  yet  have  a  friend, 

Though  a  firlend  I  am  never  to  see. 

VL 

How  fleet  b  a  glance  of  the  mind ! 

Ck>mpar  d  with  the  speed  of  its  flight. 
The  tempest  itself  lags  behind, 

And  the  swift-winged  arrows  of  light. 
When  I  think  of  my  own  native  land, 

In  a  moment  I  seem  to  bo  there ; 
But,  alas !  recollection  at  hand 

Soon  hurries  me  back  to  despair. 

VIL 
But  the  sea-fowl  is  gome  to  her  nest, 

The  beast  is  laid  down  in  his  lair } 
Even  here  is  a  season  of  rest. 

And  I  to  my  cabin  repair. 
There's  mercy  in  every  place, 

And  mercy,  encouraging  thought  1 
Gives  even  afflicti<m  a  ^rjrace, 

And  reconciles  man  to  his  k>t 


(180) 


OS  %M9  FBpip9yjiCHI  Of 


EDWARD  THUSLOW,  EBQL 
To  tke  Lord  High  ChanetOorMf  of  England. 


h 
ROUND  Thurbw's  I^ead,  i^  w\f  70i4h| 

And  in  bis  sportive  day^. 
Fair  Science  pour'd  the  llgM  of  tni^ 

And  Genius  shed  his  rays 

See  !  ^itn  united  wonder,  cried 

Th*  experienced  and  the  sage, 
Ambition  in  a  boy  supplied 

With  all  the  skiU  of  age! 
UI. 
Discernment,  eloquence,  and  grac^, 

Proclaim  him  born  to  sway 
The  balance  in  the  highest  placO| 

And  bear  the  palm  away. 
IV. 
The  praise  bestow'd  was  just  aad  wise  f 

He  sprang  fanpetuous  forth, 
Secure  of  oonqnest,  where  the  i^riM 

Attends  superiour  worth. 
V. 
So  the  best  courser  on  the  plain 

Ere  yet  he  starts  is  known, 
And  does  butat  the  gt^  obtain 

What  all  had  deem'd  his  own* 


-irry^V  p-    v-.Tnn?:^.,v--Z~ 


(181) 


ODE  TO  PEACE. 


I. 

COME^  peace  of  mindy  dtlt|^tfid  goeetf 
Re^«ni  and  make  thy  downy  aait 

Once  more  in  this  sad  heart : 
Nor  rickea  I  nor  pow*r  pntane, 
Nor  hold  forbidden  joys  in  Tiew  ^ 

We  therefi>Fe  need  not  part 

n. 

Where  wilt  thon  dwefl,  if  not  with  me. 
From  ay'rice  and  amtntioB  fiw,  - 

And  pleasure'a  &tal  wiles  ? 
For  whom,  alas !  dost  thon  prepai* 
The  sweets  that  I  was  wont  to  shue^ 

The  banquet  of  thy  smiles  ? 
HL 
The  great,  the  gay,  shall  th^  partake, 
The  Hear'n  that  thou  alone  canst  mak«  ?  . 

And  wilt  thou  quit  the  stream 
^  That  murmurs  through  the  dewy  meady 
The  grove  and  the  sequester'd  abed 

To  be  a  guest  with  them  ? 
IV. 
For  thee  I  panted,  thee  I  prii*d, 
For  thee  I  gladly  sacrificed 

Whate*er  I  loT*d  before ; 
And  shall  I  see  thee  start  away^ 
And  helpless,  hopeless,  hear  thee  sey^ 

Farewell !  we  meet  no  more  ' 
Vol.  I    -  10 


(182) 
HUMAN  FRAILTY. 


1. 

WEAK  and  irresolute  is  man  i 

Tlie  purpose  of  to-day, 
Woven  with  pains  into  his  plan, 

To-monow  rends  away. 

n. 

Tho  bow  well  bent,  and  smart  the  spring, 

Vice  seems  already  slain ; 
But  Passion  rudely  snaps  the  string. 

And  it  revives  again. 

m. 

Some  foe  to  liis  upright  intent 

Finds  out  liis  weaker  part ; 
Virtue  engages  his  assent, 

But  PJeasuro  wins  his  heart. 
IV. 
Tis  hero  the  folly  of  the  wise 

Tlirough  all  his  heart  we  view ; 
And,  while  his  tongue  tho  charge  domes, 

His  conscience  owns  it  true. 
V. 
Bound  on  a  voyage  of  awful  lengfe 

And  dangers  little  known, 
A  stranger  to  supeiiour  strength, 

Man  vainly  trusts  his  owil. 
VI. 
But  oars  alone  can  ne'er  prevail, 

To  reach  the  diatant  coast ; 
The  breath  of  Hcav'n  must  swell  the  sail, 

Or  all  the  toil  ia  lost. 


(183) 


THE  MODERN  PATRIOT. 


I. 
REBELLION  is  my  theme  all  day: 

I  only  wifih  'twould  come, 
(As  who  knows  but  perhaps  it  may  ?) 

A  little  nearer  liome. 
II. 
Ton  roaring  boys,  who  rave  and  fight 

On  t'other  side  th'  Atlantick, 
I  always  held  them  in  the  right,  . 

But  most  so  when  most  frantick. 
III. 
When  lawless  mobs  insult  the  court, 

That  man  shall  be  my  toast, 
If  breaking  windows  bo  the  sport. 

Who  bravely  breaks  the  most. 

But,  O !  for  him  my  fancy  culls 

The  choicest  flow'rs  she  bearSi 
Who  constitutionally  pulls 

Your  house  about  your  ears. 
V. 
Such  civil  broils  are  my  delight, 

Though  some  folks  can't  endure  them, 
Who  say  the  mob  are  mad  outright, 

And  that  a  rope  must  cure  them. 
VJ. 
A  rope  !  I  wish  we  patriots  had 

Such  strings  for  all  who  need  *om— 
What !  hang  a  man  for  going  mad  I 

Then  farewell  British  freedom. 


C184) 


0»  ohsermng  90me  Karnes  tfliUlt  noU  rte^rded  i 
the  Biograpkia  Britannica, 


OH,  fond  attempt  to  give  a  deatUew  hi 
To  names  ignoble,  hotn  to  be  forgot ! 
In  vain,  recorded  in  historick  page. 
They  court  the  notice  of  a  future  age  * 
Those  twinkling  tiny  lustres  of  the  land 
Drop  one  by  (me  from  Fame'^  neglecting  hand 
Lethflean  gulfs  receive  them  as  they  iall. 
And  dark  oblivion  soon  absorbs  them  all. 

So  when  a  child,  as  playful  children  use. 
Has  burnt  to  tinder  a  stale  lost  year's  news. 
The  fliune  extinct,  he  views  the  roving  fire-^ 
There  goes  my  lady,  and  there  goes  the  squire. 
There  goes  the  parson,  oh  illustrious  spark! 
And  there,  scarce  less  illustrious,  goes  the  clerk  ^ 


REPORT 

€f  mm  adjudged  Can,  not  to  fte  found  in  any  qf  •!• 
Sookt, 


I. 
BETWEEN  Nose  and  Eyes  a  strange  contMt  troM 

The  spectacles  set  them  unhappily  wrong ; 
The  point  in  dispute  was,  as  aU  the  world  knows. 

To  which  the  sud  spectacles  ought  to  belong. 


REPORT  OF  A  LAW  CASE.  185 

IL 

Sb  Tongue  was  the  lawyer,  and  argued  the  cause 
With  a  great  deal  of  skill,  and  a  wi^  full  of  loamingi 

While  chief  baron  Ear  sat  to  balance  the  laws, 
So  fam'd  for  his  talent  in  nicely  discerning. 

m. 

In  behalf  of  the  Nose  it  will  (JuicMy  appear, 

And  your  lordship,  he  said,  will  undoubtedly  find, 
That  the  Nose  has  had  spectacles  always  in  wear. 
Which  amounts  to  possessicm  time  oat  c^mind. 
IV. 
Then  holding  the  spectacles  up  to  the  court. 
"^     Your  lordship    observes    they    are    made    with    • 
straddle 
As  wide  as  the  ridge  of  the  Nose  is ',  in  short, 
Designed  to  sit  close  to  it,  just  like  a  saddle. 
V. 
Again,  would  your  lordship  a  moment  suppose, 

(*Tis  a  case  that  has  happened,  and  may  be  fljgain,) 
That  the  visage  or  countenance  had  not  a  Nose, 
Pray  who  would,  or  who  could,  wear  spectacles  then  r 

vi. 

On  the  whole  it  appears,  and  my  argument  shows, 
With  a  reasoning  the  court  wiH  never  condenm, 

That  the  spectacles  plainly  were  made  for  the  Nose 
And  the  Nose  was  as  plainly  intended  £>r  them. 

'  vh. 

Then  shifting  his  side,  (as  a  lawyer  knows  now,) 

He  pleaded  again  in  behalf  of  the  Eyes : 
But  what  wero  his  arguments  few  people  know. 

For  the  court  did  not  think  they  were  equally  wise 
VIII. 
So  his  lordship  decreed,  with  a  grave  solemn  tone, 

'  Decisive  and  clear,  without  one  if  or  but — 
That,  whenever  the  Nose  put  his  spectacles  on, 

By  day-light  or  candle-light — Eyes  should  be  shut 
IC* 


(186) 


THE  BURNINQ 

OF 

LORD  HANSFIEUrS  LIBRART, 

TOflXtBXB  WITB  HIS  MtS. 

By  the  Mob,  in  the  month  of  June,  1780 


I. 

So  then— the  Vandals  of  oar  iaifty 
Sworn  foes  to  lense  and  law, 

RaTe  burhl  to  dust  a  nobler  pilii 
Than  evoi  Roman  saw ! 

n. 

And  Murray  sighs  o*er  Pope  and  Swidf 

And  many  a  treasore  mora, 
The  well^judgod  purchase  andthe  |pft« 

That  grao'd  his  lettered  store. 

in* 

Their  pages  mangled,  burnt,  and  toni| 

The  loss  was  hit  alone  ; 
B  jt  ages  yet  to  come  shall  mouni 

The  burning  o^kis  oiou 


-J 


(187) 


ON  THE  SAME. 


1. 

WflEn  WH  an4  <3«tiiHS  meet  tlnSr  dwm 

In  aU-devouhiu;  flame, 
They  tell  ub  of  the  fete  of  Rome, 

And  bid  ua  fear  the  same. 

n. 

O'er  Murray' $  low  the  muBOS  wej)t, 

They  felt  the  rude  alann> 
Tet  bleas'd  the  guardian  care  that  kift 

Hia  sacred  head  from  harm. 

in. 

There  mem'ry,  l&e  the  bee,  that'n  fed 

Frwn  Flora's  baUny,  atore, 
The  quinteaseno©  of  ajl  he  road 

Had  treasured  up  before. 
IV. 
The  lawless  herd,  with  fury  bUnd, 

Have  done  lum  cfuel  wcong ; 
The  flow'rs  aw  gone-hut  stiU  we  find 

The  honey  on  hia  tongue. 


(188) 

THE 

LOVE  OF  THE  WORLD  REPROVED 

OR,  HYPOCRISY  DETECTED.* 


THUS  says  tho  prophet  of  the  Turk- 
Good  musselmani  abstain  from  pork ; 
There  is  a  part  in  every  ewino 
No  friend  or  follower  of  mine 
May  taste,  whate'er  his  inolinationi 
Upon  pain  of  excommunication. 
Such  Mahomet's  mysterious  charfre, 
And  thus  he  left  the  point  at  largo. 
Had  he  the  sinful  part  expressed, 
They  mighC  with  safety  eat  the  rest ; 
But  for  one  piece  they  thought  it  hard 
From  the  whole  hog  to  be  debarr'd ; 
And  set  their  wit  at  work  to  find 
What  joint  the  prophet  had  in  mind.     ' 
Much  controversy  straight  arose, 
These  choose  the  back,  the  belly  those ; 
By  some  'tis  confidently  said 
He  meant  not  to  forbid  the  head ; 
While  others  at  that  doctrine  rail, 
And  piously  prefer  the  tail. 
Thus  conscience  freed  from  ev*ry  clog, 
Mahometans  eat  up  tho  hog. 

•  It  may  be  proper  to  inform  Ibe  reader,  that  Uiis  piece 
has  already  appeared  in  print,  having  found  its  way,  tliougk 
with  some  unnecessary  additions  by  an  unknown  hand,  into 
M  Leeds  Journal,  without  the  author's  privity. 


J 


HYPOCRISY  DETfcCTED  a89 

You  langh — 'tis  well — ^The  tale  applied, 
May  make  you  laugh  on  t'other  side, 
Renoonce  the  world — the  preacher  cries  ; 
We  do — a  multitnde  replies. 
While  one  as  innocent  regards 
A  mug  and  friendly  game  at  cards  ; 
And  one,  whatever  you  may  say, 
Can  see  no  evil  in  a  play  ; 
Borne  love  a  concert  or  a  race  ; 
And  others  shooting,  and  the  cliace, 
Revil'd  and  lov'd,  renoune'd  and  follow'd, 
Thus,  bit  by  bit,  the  world  is  swallow'd ; 
Each  thinks  his  neighbour  makes  too  firM, 
Yet  likes  a  slice  as  well  as  he : 
With  sophistry  their  sance  they  sweeten* 
Till  quite  from  tail  to  snout  'tis  eaten. 


ov 
THE  DEATH  OF 
MBS.  (vow  uii^r)  rwBooKMonmi'B 
BULFINCH. 


YE  nymphs !  if  e'er  your  eyes  wete  TOi 
With -tears  o'er  hapless  fav^itos  shed 

O  share  Maria's  grief ! 
Her  fav'rite,  even  in  has  cage, 
(What  will  not  hunger's  cruel  rage  f) 

Assassin'd  by  a  thief. 


190  LADY  THROCKMORTONB  BULFINCH. 
"  WJiero  Rhonus  strays  his  vines  among, 
The  egg  was  laid  from  which  he  sprung ; 
And,  though  by  nature  mute, 
^  Or  only  with  a  whistle  blest, 
^  Well  taught  he  all  the  sounds  express'd 
Of  flagelet  or  flute. 

^  The  honours  of  his  ebon  poll 

Were  brighter  Uiau  the  sleekest  mol«, 
His  bosom  of  the  hue 
y  With  which  Aurora  docks  the  skiet 
When  piping  winds  shall  soon  arise 
To  sweep  away  the  dew 

Above,  below,  in  all  the  house, 
Dire  foe  alike  ofjiird  and  mouse, 

No  cat  had  leave  to  dwell ; 
And  Bully's  cage  supported  stood 
On  props  of  smooth-shaven  wood. 

Large  built  and  lattic'd  well. 

Well  lattic'd— but  the  grate,  alas ! 
Not  rough  with  wire  of  stool  or  brass, 

For  Bully's  plumage  sake, 
But  smooth  with  wands  from  Ouse*s  side, 
With  which,  when  neatly  peal'd  and  dried, 

The  swains  their  baskets  make. 

Night  veil'd  the  pole ;  all  secmM  secure , 
When  led  by  instinct,  sharp  and  sure, 
Subsistence  to  provide, 
t     A  beast  forth  sallied  on  the  scout, 

Long-back'd,  long-tail'd,  with  whisker'd  mom, 
And  badger-colour 'd  hide 

Ho,  ent'rmg  at  the  study  door 
Its  ample  area  'gan  explore  5 
And  flomethmg  in  the  wind 


THE  ROSE  191 

Conj<H;lur'<},  mufUng  ronnd  and  round) 
Better  than  all  the  books  lie  fouudy 
Food  chiefly  for  the  mmd. 

Just  then,  by  adverse  fate  impressed, 
A  dream  disturbed  poor  Bully's  rest ; 

In  sleep  he  seem'd  to  view 
A  rat  fast  clinging  to  the  cage, 
And  screaming  at  Uie  sad  presage. 

Awoke  and  found  it  true. 

For  aided  both  by  ear  and  scent, 
Right  to  hk  mark  the  monster  went— 

Ah  muse  !  forbear  to  speak 
Minute  the  horrors  that  ensu'd  ; 
His  teeth  were  strong,  the  cage  was  wood — 

He  left  poor  Bully's  beak. 

O  had  he  mode  that  too  his  prey ; 
That  beak,  whence  issu'd  many  a  lay 

Of  such  mellifluous  tone. 
Might  have  repaid  him  well  I  wote. 
For  silencing  so  sweet  a  tlvroat, 

Fast  stuck  within  his  own. 

Maria  weeps — the  muses  mourn — 
So  when  by  Bacchanalians  torn, 

On  Thracean  Hebrus*  side, 
The  tree-enchanter  Orpheus  fell. 
His  head  alone  remained  to  tell 

The  cruel  death  he  died« 


THE  ROSE. 

The  Rose  had  been  wash'd,  just  woah'd  in  a  show'i 

Wliich  Mary  to  Anna  convoy 'd, 
The  plentiful  moisture  encumber 'd  tlio  flow'r 

And  wcigh'd  down  its  beautiful  h^nA, 


^ 


W  THE  DOVES. 

The  cap  wm  «11  fill'd,  tnd  the  leaves  wore  all  wet, 
^      And  it  seem'd  to  a  fimeiful  yiow, 
To  weep  for  the  buda  it  hod  left  with  reffrety 
On  the  flourishing  bush  where  it  grow 

I  hastily  seiz'd  H,  unfit  as  H  was 
For  a  nosegaj,  so  dripping  and  drown*i^ 

And  swinging  it  mdelji  toe  radely,  alas  I 
I  snapp*d  it-^t  fell  to  the  ground. 

And  such,  I  exclaimed,  is  the  pitiless  part 

Some  act  by  the  delicate  mind, 
Regardless  of  wringing  and  breaking  a  baait 

Already  to  sorrow  resigned. 

Thb  elegant  rose,  had  I  shaken  it  less, 
Might  liave  bIoom*d  with  its  oiwner  a  while  ; 

And  the  tear  that  is  wip*d  with  a  little  address. 
May  be  followed  perhaps  by  a  smile  ^ 


THE  DOVES. 

I. 
REASONING  at  ey*ry  step  ho  treads, 

Man  yet  mistakes  his  way, 
While  meaner  things,  whom  instinct  leads, 

Are  rarely  known  to  stray* 
II. 
One  nient  eve  I  wandered  late. 

And  heard  the  voice  of  love : 
The  turtle  thus  addressed  her  mate, 

And  sooth'd  the  list'nuig  dove  • 


THE  DOYBS. 
III. 
Our  mutual  bond  of  faith  and  troth, 

No  time  shall  disengage, 
Those  blessings  of  our  early  youth 
Shall  cheer  our  latest  age  : 
IV. 
While  innocence  without  disguisei 

And  constancy  sincere, 
Shall  fill  the  circles  of  those  eyes, 
And  mine  can  read  them  there. 


193 


Those  ills  that  wait  on  all  below. 

Shall  ne*er  be  felt  by  me, 
Or  gently  felt,  and  only  so. 

As  being  shax*d  with  thea. 
VI. 
When  lightnings  flash  among  the  tiMis 

Or  kites  are  hov*ring  near, 
I  fear  lest  thee  alone  ^ey  seize, 

And  know  no  other  fear.. 
VIL 
'TIS  then  I  feel  myself  a  m&f. 

And  press  thy  wedded  side, 
Resolved  9.mdon£6aa-d  for  H£^ 

DmiHh  nevien  sfaAU  divide* 

vin.     * 

Bat  oh !  if  ^kle  and^unchaste, 

(Forgive  a  ttwufient  thought,) 
Thou  could  become  unkind  at  lart, 

And  scorn  thy  present  lot, 
IX. 
No  need  of  lightnuige  fironi  on  high» 

Or  kites  with  eruel  beak ; 
Deined  th*  endearments  of  thine  eye, 

This  widow'd  heart  would  break 
Vol.  I.  17 


194  A  FABLE. 

X. 
Thus  Bang  the  ewoot  sequestered  bird, 
'^       Soft  as  the  passing  wind. 
And  I  recorded  what  I  heard, 
A  loMon  for  mankind. 


A  FABLE. 


A  RAVEN,  while  with  glossy  brMsi 

Her  new-hdd  eggs  she  fondly  prpsi^d, 

Andy  on  her  wicker  work  high  monntedf 

Her  chickens  prematurely  counted, 

(A  fiiult  iihilosophcrs  might  blame 

If  quite  exempted  from  the  same,) 

Enjoy'd  at  ease  the  genial  day ; 

Twas  April,  as  the  bumpkins  say. 

The  legislature  call'd  it  May. 

But  suddenly  a  wind  as  high 

As  ever  swept  a  winter  sky, 

Shook  the  young  leaves  about  her  ean. 

And  fiird  her  with  a  thousand  fears, 

Lest  tlie  rude  blast  slieuld  cnap  the  bouglv 

And  spread  her  golden  hopes  below. 

But  just  at  eve  the  blowing  weather, 

And  all  her  fears  were  hushed  together : 

And  now,  quoth  poor  unthinking  Ralph, 

Tis  over,  and  the  brood  is  safe; 

(For  ravens,  though  as  birds  of  omen 

They  teach  both  confrors  and  old  women, 

To  tell  us  what  is  to  befall. 

Can't  prophesy  themselves  at  all ;) 

The  morning  came,  wlien  neighbour  Hodge 

Who  long  had  mark'd  her  airy  lodge, 


A  COMPARISON.  ^9d 

And  clMti]i*d  all  the  treasure  thera 
A  glti  to  his  expecting  fair, 
CUnib'd  like  a  sqoirrel  to  lib  drey, 
And  bore  tlio  worthlesa  prize  awajr* 


MORAL. 


Tia  Providence  alone  aecorea 
In  er'ry  change  both  mine  and  yoon 
Safety  consists  not  in  escape 
From  dangers  of  a  frightful  shape ; 
An  e;irthquake  may  be  bid  to  spare 
The  man  that's  strangled  by  a  hair. 
Fate  steals  along  with  silent  tread. 
Found  oft*nest  in  what  least  we  dread. 
Frowns  in  the  stonh  with  angry' brow, 
But  in  the  sunshine  strikes  the  blow. 


A  COMPARISON. 


THE  lapse  of  time  and  rivers  is  the  same, 
Both  speed  tlioir  journey  with  a  restless  strtam 
The  silent  pace  with  which  they  steal  away. 
No  wealth  can  bribe,  no  pray'rs  persuade  to  stay 
Alike  irrevocable  both  when  past, 
And  a  wide  ocean  swallows  both  at  last. 
Though  each  resemble  each  in  ev'ry  part, 
A  diff*ience  strikes  at  length  the  musing  heart ; 


196       THE  POET'S  NEW  YEAR'S  GIFT. 

Stroams  never  flow  in  vain ;  where  itrMBviilwindf 
^   How  lai^hs  the  land  with  lrarkittti^im9«inv<i*d< 
But  time,  that  should  endtih  tto  iibM«v  MM^ 
Neglected  loaves  a  dretO'j  wwrte'^tf^ili 


ANOTHER. 

ADDRESSED   TO  ▲  TOUKG  LADY. 

SWEET  stream,  that  winds  through  yondet  ghde, 
Apt  emblem  of  a  virtuous  maid — 
Silent  and  chaste  she  steals  along, 
■Far  from  the  world's  gay  busy  throng; 
With  gentle,  yet  prevailing  force. 
Intent  npon  her  destined  course ; 
Graceful  and  useinl  all  she  does. 
Blessing  and  bless'd  where'er  she  goes, 
Pnre-boflom'd  as  that  wat'iy  glass, 
And  Heav'n  reflected  in  her  face. 


THE 

FOETUS  NEW-YEAR'S  QUPT^ 

■    to  MIUI.  (wow  IkADv)  THBOCEHORaKWI. 

MARIA !  I  iiato  ^v'r y  good 

For  thee  wishM  «iany  a  time. 
Both  sad  and  in  a  cheerful  mood, 

But  never  yet  in  rhyme. 


-       OPE  TO  APOLLO.  W 

.  To  wiflJi  thee  fiorer  is  no  need. 
More  prudent,  or  more  vpnghilj, 
Or  more  ingenious,  or  more  freed 
From  temper  flaws  unsightly. 

What  faTour  then  not  yet  possess'd 

Can  I  for  thee  require. 
In  wedded  lore  already  blest. 

To  thy  whole  hearths  desire  ? 

None  here  Is  happy  but  in  part . 

Foil  bliss  is  Miss  divine : 
There  dwells  some  wish  in  ey*ry  heartf 

And  doubtless  one.  in  thine. 

That  wish  on  some  lair  future  day, 

Which  Fate  shall  brightly  gild, 
(Tis  blameless,  be  it  what  it  may,) 

I  wish  it  all  fulfill'd. 


1 


ODE  TO  APOLLO- 


On  an  Jnkglass  almost  dried  m  ik§  sum 

PATRON  of  all  those  luckless  brains, 
That,  to  the  wrong  side  leaning. 

Indite  much  metre  with  much  paiasi 
And  little  or  no  meaning. 

And  why,  since  oceans,  rivers,  streams,  • 

That  water  all  the  natSons, 
Pay  tribiUo  to  thy  glorious  beams. 

In  constant  exhalations  \ 
17  • 


lOe        PAIRING  TIME  AKTIGIFATED. 
Why,  stooping  from  the  noon  of  4ij|[» 

Too  coYttpus  of  drink, 
Apollo,  hast  thon  itolhi  away 

A  poet's  drop  of  ink  i 

Upborne  into  the  viewless  air, 

It  floats  a  vapour  now, 
Impelled  through  regions  ^leiiie  laid  nil*, 

By  all  the  winds  that  hiew.      * 

Ordain'd,  perhaps,  ere  somm«r^&My 
Combin'd  with  mfllioM  mote, 
1^  To  form  an  Iris  in  the  skits, 
Thoogh  black  and  Ami  befbM* 

niustrioos  drop !  and  happy  Ihen 

Beyond  the  happiest  lot, 
Of  all  that  ever  pass*d  my  patt. 

So  soon  to  be  forgot. 

Phodbus,  if  such  be  thy  design, 

To  place  it  in  thy  bow. 
Give  wit,  that  what  is  left  may  shine 

With  equal  grace  below. 


PAIRING  TIME  ANTICIPATED. 

A  FABLZ. 

I  SHALL  ikot  ask  Jean  JttquiM  lteiMfe«H* 
If  birds  confabulate  or  no ; 

*  It  waaoDe  «f  the  whimsical  ^pacuIaUoos  of  tbis,pHiloio> 
pher,  that  all  fables,  which  ascribe  reason  and  speech  to  ani* 
mab,  dionld  be  withheld  ftom  children,  as  bein^only^ehides 
of  deception.  Bat  what  child  was  ever  dece^Md  brylWDi,  or 
can  be,  against  the  evidence  of  his  senses  ? 


FJHRmO  TIME  ANTICIPATED. 
*n§  dear  that  they  were  always  aUa 
To  hold  diacours^— at  least  in  &ble } 
And  e*en  the  diild  who  knows  no  bettar. 
Than  to  interpret  by  the  Irtter, 
A  story  ofaiMM^Andball, 
Must  have  a  roost  uncoraoion  sknlL 

It  chano'd  then  on  a  water^s  day, 
But  warm,  and  bright, -aad  csahn  as  Mtjf 
The  birds,  cono^rhig'a  deei^ 
To  forestafl  swe«tSt.  Valiii^M, 
In  many  an  oMiiard,  oepie,  and  gHtwe^ 
Assembed  on  stflhies  df  lore, 
And  with  mieio)i  tw^^ter  and  mtich  ohailat» 
Began  toajghate  the  matter. 
At  len^  m  Mfinob,  Who  eonkt-bdait 
Man  yeote  «id  wiedem  than  tiie  moaly 
Entreated,  op*tSnig  wide  his  beaik, 
A  mdmetit^  ittreMy  to  s|wak ; 
And,  silence  publickly  ei^oin^ 
Delivered  briefly  tims  his  mind  : 

My  friends !  be  cOiitioas  how  ye  tM«t 
The  subject  upon  which  we  meet ; 
I  fear  we  shall  have  winter  yet. 

A  Finch,  whose  tdngue  kliew  no  control. 
With  golden  wing,  and  satin  poll, 
A4ast  year's  bird,  whKv  ne'er  had  iried 
What  numrtage  me«M,  tlMM  psart  replied : 

Methittks  the  •gentlentti,  'qiioth>abey 
Oppose  in  the  apple  tree, 
By  his  good  will  would  keep  us  nngle 
Tin  yonder  Heay'n  and  earth  shall  mingls 
Or,  (which  is  likelier  to  befall,) 
Till  death  exterminate  us  all. 
I  marry  without  more  ado, 
My  dear  Dick  Redcap,  what  say  you  f 

Dick  heard,  and  tweedlin^,  ogling,  bridling, 
Taming  short  round,  strutting,  and  sideling. 


1» 


(sB=3 


acK 


I        PAIRING  TIME  ANTICIPATED. 
Attegtcd,  glad,  his  approbotioa 
Of  an  immediate  coDJogation^ 
Their  aentiments,  so  well  expreaa'di 
Inflncnc'd  mightily  the  rest. 
All  pair'd,  and  each  pair  built  a  neat. 

Bqt  though  the  birds  were  thus  in  haste, 
The  leaves  came  on  not  quite  so  ftst| 
And  destiny,  that  semetimes  bean 
An  aspect  stem  on  nian*s  affairs^ 
Not  altogether  smird  on  theirs. 
The  wmd  of  hie  breath'd  gei^y  ibrth, 
Now  shifted  east,  and  east  by  north ; 
Bare  trees  and  shrubs  but  ill,  yon  know« 
Could  shelter  them  from  rain  or  snow. 
Stepping  into  their  nests,  they  paddled, 
Themselves  were  chilPd,  their  eggs  were 
Soon  ev*ry  father  bird  and  mother 
Grew  quarrelsome,  and  peeked  each  other, 
Parted  without  the  least  regret, 
Except  that  they  had  never  met ; 
And  leani*d,  in  future,  to  be  wis^r 
Than  to  neglect  a  good  adviser. 


MORAL. 

MlsRs !  the  tale  that  I  rekts 
This  leasoii  seems  to  carry'^ 

Ghooee  not  alone  a  pn^r  mate, 
But  proper  time,  to  many. 


^Sgssri-Jl.jl 


T*IEIX>6 
Aath 
TSE  WATER-LILY. 


THE  noon  was  ithady,  asid  ttoit  rnebt 

Swept  Ouse*8  silent  ttde, 
Wlien,  iicftp'd  from  litetary  Cam% 

1  wander'd  on  his  Ado. 

My  tpiaaki,  ptviiwmt  of ^^-raiMi, 

And  high  in  pedi^rde,- 
(Two  nymphs*  adom'd  WifhieT*iy;^ffl»9 

That  spaniel  foudd  for  rooi) 

Ifow  wanton*d  looliia^a^'aid  !rM«b» 

Now  stai^g  into  sighti 
Pnrsu'd  the  vwalknroWtJie  mamim 

With  scarce  a  slo#erfltglit 

It  was  the  time  when  Onse  dispby*d 

His  lilies  newly  blown ; 
Their  •beauties  I  intent  surrey  *d^ 

And  one  I  wish'd  my  owti. 

With  cane  extended  far  I  sought 

To  steer  it  close  to  land; 
But  still  the  pri^,  though  nearly  cau^t. 

Escaped  my  eager  hand. 

•  Sir  Robert  Guonmg*s  daughters. 


9Sg&^% 


202  THK  POET.  OYSTER,  &c 

Beau  marked  my  unsuccessful  paini 

With  fix*d  considerate  face, 
And  puzzling  set  his  puppy  braini 

To  comprehend  the  case. 

But  with  a  chomp  clear  and  strongi 

Dispersmg  all  his  dream, 
I  thence  withdrew,  and  fbllow*d  long 

The  wmdin^rg  of  the  stream. 

My  ramble  ended,  I  retum*d ; 

Beau  trotting  far  beforO| 
The  floating  wreath  again  diacem'd. 

And  plunging  left  the  shore. 

I  saw  him  with  that  lily  cropped. 

Impatient  swim  to  meet 
My  quick  approach,  and  soon  he  dropp'd 

The  treasure  at  my  feet. 

Charm'd  with  the  sight,  the  world,  I  eried, 

Shall  hear  of  this  thy  deed : 
My  dog  idiall  mortify  the  pride 

Of  man's  superiour  breed : 

But  chief  myself  1  wiU  enjohi, 

Awake  at  duty's  call, 
To  show  a  lof«  ai  pronqit  as  thine, 

To  him  who  gtves mealL. 


THE  POET,  THE  OYSTER 

AKD 

SENSITIVE  PLANT. 

AN  Oyster,  cast  upon  the  shore, 
Was  hoard,  though  never  heard  beforo^ 


^r^^ 


THE  POET,  OYSTER,  Ac.  2(^ 

Complaining  in  a  speech  well  woided. 
And  worthy  thus  to  bo  recorded — 

Ahy  hapless  wroich  !  condemned  to  dwell 
For  ever  in  my  native  shell ; 
Ordain'd  to  uMve  when  others  pleaao. 
Not  for  my  own  content  or  ease  * 
But  toBs'd,  and  hu&tted  about, 
Now  in  the  water,  and  now  mii, 
Twore  better  to  bo  boma  a  stoae. 
Of  ruder  shape  and  leeliagr  noiM, 
Tlian  wj^  a  tonderaess  like  mine. 
And  sennbiHties  00  fkie  I  . 
I  envy  that  unfeeling  shrub, 
Fast  rooted  agjunst  ev'ry  rub. 
The  plant  he  meant  grew  not  far  off. 
And  felt  the  sneer  with  scorn  enough  j 
Was  hurt,  disgusted,  mortified, 
And  with  asperity  replied. 

Wh«i,  cry  the  botanista,  and  stare, , 
Did  plants  call'd  sensitive  grow  thero  ^ 
No  matter  when— a  poet's  muse  is. 
To  make  them  grow  just  where  she  d^ooies 

Tou  sliapeloss  nothing  in  a  dish, 
Tou  that  are  but  almost  a  fish, 
I  scorn  your  coarse  insinuatlni, 
And  have'mott  plentiful  occasion, 
To  wish  myself  the  rock  I  view. 
Or  such  another  dolt  as  you : 
For  many  a  grave  and  learned  clerk, 
A  many  a  gay  unlotter'd  n^Nurk, 
With  curious  touch  examines  me, 
If  I  can  feel  as  well  as  ho ; 
And  when  I  bend,  retire,  and  shrink, 
Says— Well,  'tis  more  tiian  one  would  think  ! 
Thns  life  is  ttpeai,  (oh  fie  upon*t }) 
In  bemg  touch*d,  and  crying — ^Don't ! 

A  poet  in  hia  ev'mng  walk, 
O'erhoaid,  and  checked  this  idlo  talk 


204  THE  SHRUBBERY. 

And  your  fine  sense,  be  said,  and  youcf^ 
Whatever  evil  it  endures. 
Deserves  not,  if  bo  soon  ofl^ded, 
Much  to  be  pitied  or  commended. 
Dispates  Plough  shorty  are  ikr  too  lonj^ 
Where  both  alike  are^  in<th«  vrtong ; 
Tour  feelings  in  their  f«^  amount, 
Are  all  upon  yomt  own  aeeoiuit. 

You,  in  jottr  grotto  work  enclosed, 
Complain  ofhtAug  thus  espps'd ; 
Yet  nothing  Ibel  in  that  rough  ooat^ 
Save  when  the  knife  is  at  your  tfaM«^. 
Where'er  driv*n  by  wind  or  tide. 
Exempt  from  ev'ry  ill  beside. 

And  as  for  you,  my  Lady  Sifyeamirit^ 
Who  reckon  ovVy  touch -a  blemish, 
If  all  the  plants  that  can  be  found, 
Embellishing  the  sceno^aimiiid, 
Should  drop  and  wither  wher»  th^»gf«ii;| 
You  would  not  feel  at^  alWnot  you. 
The  noblest  minds  their  idrtue  pniva- 
By  P^*  >yBipo^i  uid  love : 
These,  thes»  are  feelings  traly  fine,, 
And  prove  their  owner  half  divine* 

His  censure  r«aoh'd  them  as  heda|]tiil^ 
And  each  by  riirinking  showed  he  felt  it^ 


THE  SHRUWRERTP.. 


WRITIWir m  4  TXl|;p  OP  IFFUPTipif. 

I. 

OH  happy  shadei*— ta  me  ui^lMt  !> 
Friendly  to  peaee,  but  not  to  me !' 

How  ill  tho  scene,  tliat  offers  rest, 
And  heart  that  cannot  rest,  agreo  *  ■ 


THE  WINTER  NOSEGAT  206 

"• 

This  ghaay  stream ,  that  spreading^  pin* 

Those  alders  quivering  to  the  breeze , 

Might  sooth  a  soul  less  hurt  than  nuney 

And  please,  if  any  thing  could  please. 

m. 

Bat  fiz*d,  unalterable  Care 

Foregoes  not  what  she  feels  withis^ 
Shows  the  saaie  sadness  ev'ry  wherei 

And  slights,  the  season  and  the  sosat- 
IV. 
For  all  thai  pleased  in  wood  or  lawn, 

While  peace  possessed  these  silent  bow^ 
Her  animating  smile  withdrawn, 

Has  lost  its  beauties  and  its  pow>« 
V. 
^he  saint  or  moralist  should  tread 

This  moss-grown  alley,  mosing,  slow  ; 
They  seek  like  me  the  secret  shade, 

But  not  like  me  to  nourish  wo ! 
VI. 
Me  irtdtful  scenes  and  prospects  waste 

Alike  admonish  not  to  roam  ; 
These  tell  me  of  enjoyments  past. 

And  those  of  sorrows  yet  to  come. 


THE  WINTIJR  NOSEGAY 

I. 
WHAT  Nature  alasl  has  dented 

To  the  delioaie  growth  of  our  istoi 
Art  has  in  a  measure  supplied, 
And  winter  is  dcck'd  with  a  suule 
Vol.  I  1ft 


806  MUTUAL  FOHBEAlL\NCK. 

See,  Mary,  what  beauties  I  bring 

From  the  shelter  of  that  sunny  shed. 
Where  the  flow'rs  have  the  charms  of  the  spnng^ 

Though  abroad  they  are  frozen  and  dead,' 

n. 

*Tis  a  bow'r  of  Arcadian  sweets, 

Where  Flora  is  still  in  her  prime, 
A  fortress  to  which  she  retreats 

From  the  cruel  assaults  of  the  clime 
While  earth  wears  .a  mantle  of  snow, 

Those  pinks  are  as  firesh  and  as  gay 
As  the  fairest  and  sweetest,  that  bbw 

Oa  the  beautiful  bosom  of  May 
III. 
See  how  they  have  safely  surviy'd 

The  irowns  of  a  sky  so  severe  ;  • 
Such  Mary's  true  love,  that  has  liv*d 

Through  many  a  turbulent  year. 
Xhe  charms  of  tbe  late  blowing  rose 

Seem*d  grac'd  with  a  livelier  hue, 
And  the  winter  of  sorrow  best  shows. 

The  truth  of  a  friend-  such  as  you. 


MUTUAL  FORBEARANCE 

NBCE88ART  TO  THE  HAPPINESS  OF  THE  MAKUIED 
STATE. 


THE  Lady  tiiiu  address'd  her  sponse-i- 
What  a  mere  dungeon  is  this  house ! 
By  no  means  large  enough ;  and  was  it,. 
Tot  this  dull  room,  and  tliat  dark  closet 


MUTUAL  FORBEARiVNCE.  207 

T^ose  hangings  with  their  worn  out  gracet, 
Long  beards,  long  noses,  and  pale  faces, 
Are  such  an  antiquated  scene, 
They  overwhelm  me  with  the  spleen. 
Sir  Humphrey,  shooting  in  the  dark, . 
Makes  answer  quite  beside  the  mark : 
No  doubt,  my  dear ;  I  bade  him  come, 
Engaged  myself  to  be  at  home. 
And  shall  expect  him  at  the  door, 
Precisely  when  the  clock  strikes  four. 

You  are  so  deaf,  the  lady  cried, 
(And  rais'd  her  voice,  and  frown'd  beside,) 
You  are  so  sadly  deaf,  my  dear. 
What  shall  I- do  to  malte  you  hear  ? 

Dismiss  poor  Harry  !  he  replies ; 
Some  people  are  more  nice  than  wise. 
For  one  slight  trespass  all  this  stir  ? 
What  if  he  did  ride  whip  and  spur, 
'Twas  but  a  mile — your  fav'rite  horso 
Will  never  look  one  hair  the  worse. 

Well,  I  protest  'tis  past  all  bearing — 
Child !  I  am  rather  hard  of  hearing — 
Yes,  truly-— one  must  scream  and  bawl 
I  tell  you,  you  can't  hear  at  all ! 
Thfen  with  a  voice  exceeding  low, 
No  matter  if  you  hear  or  no. 

Alas !  and  is  domestick  stife, 
That  sorest  ill  of  human  life; 
A  plague  90,littlQ  to  be  fearM, 
As  to  be  wantonly  incurred, 
To  gratify  a  fretful  passion,    • 
On  ev*ry  trivial  provocation  ? 
The  kindest  and  the  happiest  pair 
Will  find  occasion  to  forbear ; 
And  sometliing  ev'ry  day  they  livc^   • 
To  pity,  and,  perhaps,  forgive.  *" 

But  if  infirmities,  that  fall 
In  common  to  the  lot  of  all, 


9)8          THE  N£OROS  COMPLAINT. 

"   ■-     j 

A  blemish  or  a  sonso  unpair'dy 

Are  crimes  lo  little  to  be  ^&r*d, 

•  Then  farewell  all,  that  must  create 

The  comfort  of  the  wedded  state;      ' 

Instead  of  harmoBy,  *tis  jar, 

And  tumult,  and  intestine  war. 

The  We  that  cheers  life*s  latest  stag*^ 

Proof  against  sickness  and  old  ^ye, 

Preserved  by  virtue  from  declensien, 

Becomes  not  weary  pf  attention ; 

But  lives,  when  that  exterionr  g^rase, 

Which  first  inspir'd  the  flame,  decays. 

*Tis  gentle,  delicate,  and  kind. 

To  faults  oomfMMsionate  or  blind, 

And  will  with  sympathy  endure 

Those  evils,  it  would  gladly  cure  : 

But  angry,  coarse,  and  harsh  eiqiressiom, 

Shows  love  to  be  a  mere  profession ; 

Proves  that  the  heart  is  none  of  hLi. 

Or  soon  ozpek  bim  if  it  a. 

» 

ncs. 

NEGRO'S  COMPLAINT 

Afric's  coast  I  lefl  forlorn ; 

To  increase  a  stranger's  treasures, 

0*erthe  raging  billows  borne. 

Men  ^om  England  bought  and  sold  me. 

Pwd  my  price  in  paltry  gold ; 

But  though  slave  tlicy  have  enrolled  me, 

Minds  are  never  to  be  sold 

THE  NEGROS  COMPLAINT.        20t 

Still  in  thought  as  flreo  as  ever. 

What  are  England's  rights  I  a^, 
Me  from  my  delights  to  sever, 

Mo  to  torture,  me  to  task  ? 
Fleecy  locks  and  black  coraplexion» 

Cannot  forfeit  Nature's  claim  ; 
Skins  may  differ,  but  afiection 

Dwells  in  white  and  black  the  i 


"Why  did  all-creating  Nat^e 

M'ikQ  the  plant  for  which  wo  toil- 
Sighs  most  fan  it,  tears  must  water. 

Sweat  of  ours  must  dress  the  soil. 
'Think,  ye  .masters,  iron-hearted, 

Lolling  at  your  jovial  boards ; 
Think  how  many  backs  have  smarted 

For  the  sweets  your  cane  affords. 

Is  there,  as  ye  sometimes  tell  us, 

Ji  there  one,  who  reigns  on  liigh  ? 
Has  he  bid  you  buy  and  sell  us. 

Speaking  from  his  throne,  the  sky  ? 
Ask  him,  if  your  knotted  scourges^ 

Matches,  blood-extorting  screws, 
Are  the  means  that  duty  urges 

Agents  of  his  will  to  use  ? 

Hark !  he  answers-r^wifd  tornadoes, 

Strewing  yonder  sea  with  wrecks ; 
Wasting  towns,  plantdtions,  meadows. 

Are  the  voice  with  wliich  he  speaks.  * 
He,  foreseeing  what  vexations 

Afric's  sons  should  undergo, 
Fix'd  their  tyrants'  habitations 

Where  his  whirlwinds  answer — No. 

By  our  blood  in  Afrio  wasted, 
Ero  our  necks  received  the  chain ; 

By  the  mis'ries  that  wo  tasted. 
Crossing  in  your  barks  tho  mahi , 
18* 


218  PITY  FOR  POOR  Al- KIOANS. 

By  our  suff'nngs  ainco  ye  brougkt  us 
To  the  man-degrading  mart ; 
All-8U8tain'd  by  patience,  taught  us 
Only  by  a  broken  heart ; 

Deem  our  nation  brutes  no  lotigtsr, 

Till  some  reason  ye  shall  find 
Worthier  of  regard,  and  stronger 

Than  the  colour  of  our  kind. 
Slaves  of  gold,  whose  sordid  dealings 

Tarnish  bU  your  boasted  pow'rs,    . 
Prove  that  you  have  human  feelings, 

£ro  you  proudly  question  ours ! 


PITY  FOR  POOR  AFRICANS. 

Video  meliora  proboque, 
Beteriora  sequor...^.. 

I  OWN  I  am  shock'd  at  the  purchase  of  slaves, 

And  fear  those  who  buy  them  and  sell  th^iii  ar« 

knaves; 
What  I  hear  of  their  hardships,  their  (ortufvs,  and 

groans, 
Is  almost  enosfh  ta  draw  ^ty  from  i 


I  pity  them  greatly — but  I  must  bo  mum— 
For  how  could  we  do  without  sugar  and  rumt 
Especially  sugar,  so  needful  we  see  ? 
What,  give  up  iratr  desserts,  our  coffee,  and  teai 

Besides,  if  we  do,  the  French,  Dutch*  and  Danes, 
Will  heartily  thank  us,  no  doubt,  for  our  pains : 
If  wo  do  not  buy  the  poor  creatures,  they  will. 
And  tortures  and  groans  will  be  multiplied  stiJl. 


.PITT  FOR  AFRICANS.  211 

If  foreigner  likewise  would  give  up  the  trade, 
Much  more  in  hehalf  of  your  wiih  might  be  said ; 
But,  while  thej  get  ridies  by  purchasing  blaekii 
Pray  t^U  me  why  we  may  not  also  go  snacks  ? 

Tour  scruples  and  arguments  bring  to  my  mind 
A  story  so  pat,  you  may  think  it  is  coin*d 
On  purpose  to  answer  you  out  of  my  mint : 
But  I  can  assure  you  I  saw  it  in  print  r 

A  youngster  at  school,  more  sedate  than  the  rett. 
Had  once  his  integrity  put  to  the  test ; 
His  comrades  had  plotted  an  orchard  to  rob. 
And  a8k*d  him  to  go  and  assist  in  the  job. 

He  was  shocked,  nr,  like  yon,  and  answer*d — ^  Oh  no ! 
What !  rob  our  good  neighbour !  I  pray  you  don't  go ; 
Besides,  the  man's  poor,  his  orchard's  his  bread. 
Then  think  of  his  children,  for  they  must  be  fed  ** 

"  You  speak  very  fine,  and  you  look  very  grave, 
But  apples  we  want,  and  apples  well  have ; 
If  you  will  go  with  us,  you  diall  have  a  share. 
If  noty  you  shall  have  neither  apple  nor  pear.** 

They  spoke,  and  Tom  ponder'd— <<  I  see  they  will  go ; 
Poor  man !  what  a  pity  to  injure  him  so ! 
Poor  nan !  I  would  save  him  his  firult  if  I  could 
But  Btoying  behind  wOl  do  him  no  good. 

'^  If  the  matter  depended  alone  fipon  me, 
His  apples  might  hang  till  they  dropp'd  from  the  tree ; 
But  mnce  they  will  taie  them,  I  tlunk  I'll  go  to, 
He  will  lose  none  by  me,  though  I  get  a  lew." 

His  seniles  thus  silenc'd,  Tom  felt  matp  at  ease, 
And  went  with  his  comrades  the  apples  to  seiae ; 
He  blam'd  and  protested,  but  join 'd  in  die  plan : 
He  shar'd  In  the  plunder,  but  pitied  the  man. 


TUiC 

MORNING  DREAM. 


TWAS  in  the  glad  season  of  spring, 

Asleep  at  tbo  dawn  of  tlic  day, 
I  drcam'd  what  1  cannot  hut  sin^, 

So  pleasant  it  sccni'd  as  T  lay. 
I  drcam'd,  that  on  ocoan  afloat, 
*  Far  henee  to  the  westward  I  siiird, 
Whilo  the  billows  high  Ufted  tlie  boat, 

AimI  the  frosh-blowiiig  breeze  never  fail'd 

In  the  steerage  a  woman  I  saw, 

Such  at  least  was  the  form  that  she  wore, 
Whoso  beauty  iniprcss'd  mo  with  awe, 

Ne'er  taught  mc  by  v  omuu  before 
She  sat,  a»d  a  shich^at  her  side 

Shed  light  like  a  sun  on  the  waves, 
And  smiling  divinely,  sfee  cried — 

"  I  go  to  make  freemen  of  sUye*."— 

Then  raising  her  vojicc  to  a  strain 

The  sweetest  that  car  ever  heard, 
She  sung  of  the  slave's  broken  chain, 

Wlierever  ber  glory  «ppcar*d. 
Some  clouds,  which  had  over  us  hung 

Fled,  chased  by  her  melody  clear', , 
And  methought  while  she  liberty  sun/f, 

Twas  liberty  only  to  hear. 

Thus  swiftly  dividing  the  flood. 
To  a  filave-cultur'd  island  wo  camo, 

Where  a  demon  her  enemy  stood — 
Oppression  his  terrihTe  nnnic. 


.t«E  NIGHTINGALE  AND  GLOWWORM.  «I3 

In  his  hand,  as  the  sign  of  his  sway, 
A  scourge  hung  with  hishes  he  bore, 

And  stood  looking  out  for  his  prey 
From  Africa's  sorrowful  shore. 

fiat  soon  as  approaching  the  land, 
•     That  goddess-like  woman  he  view'd, 
The  scourge  he  let  ML  from  his  hand, 

With  blood  of  his  subjects  imbruU 
I  saw  him  both  sicken  and  die, 

And  the  moment  tlie  monster  expiT'd, 
Heard  shouts  that  ascended  the  sky, 

From  thousands  with  rapture  insplrM. 

Awaking,  how  ca^M  I  but  muse 

At  what  such  a  dream  should  betiie  *. 
But  sooii  my  ear  caught  tiie  glad  nerwt, 

Which  iervVi  my  weak  thought  Iblr  a  goid*^ 
That  Britaattia,  renowa'd  o*er  the  w»t«i 

For  the  hatred  ^o  ever  has  i^ewn 
To  the  bkeki'scepter'd  rulers  of  slaves, 

Resolves  to  haV»  none  of  her  owtt. 


NIGHTINGALE  AND  OLOW-HWENL 

A  NIGHTINGALE,  that  all  day  long 
Had  cheer'd.the  viUage  with  his  song. 
Nor  yet  at  eve  his  note  suspended. 
Nor  yet  when  eventide  was  ended, 
Began  to  feel,  as  well  he  might, 
The  keen  demands  of  appetite  ; 


214  THE  NIGHTINGALE  AND  QLOW-WORai 

When  looking  eagerly  around, 
He  spied  far  off  upon  the  ground, 
A  sometliiiig  shining  iii  the  dark, 
And  knew  the  glow-worm  by  his  sparii ; 
So  stooping  down  from  hawthoryi  top, 
He  thought  to  put  him  in  his  crop. 
The  worm  aware  of  his  intent, 
Harangu'd  him  thus  right  eloquent.  - 

Did  you  admire  my  lamp,  quoth  ho. 
As  much  as  I  your  minstrelsy, 
You  would  abhor  to  do  me  wrong. 
As  much  as  I  to  spoil  your  song  ; 
For  'twas  the  self-same  pow'r  divine 
Taught  you  to  sing,  and  me  to  shine } 
That  yon  with  musick,  I  with  light. 
Might  beautify  and  cheer  the  night   ' 
The  songster  heard  his  sliort  oration, 
And  warbling  out  his  approbation, 
Released  him  as  my  story  tells. 
And  found  a  supper  somewhere  else. 

Hence  jarring  sectaries  may  learn 
Their  real  int'rest  to  discern ; 
That  brother  should  not  war  with  broth^i 
And  worry  and  devour  each  other  ; 
But  sing  and  shme  by  sweet  consent. 
Till  life's  poor  transient  night  is  spent. 
Respecting  in  each  other's  case 
The  gifts  of  nature  and  of  grace. 

Those  Christians  best  deserve  the  nftmei  > 
Who  studiously  make  peace  their  aim  , 
Peace  both  the  duty  and  the  prize 
Of  him  that  creeps,  and  him  that  flies 


C215) 


ON  A  GOLDFINCH, 


tTARTXD  TO  DZATH  IH  Hit  CAQB 


1. 

TIME  was  wheji  I  was  free  as  air. 
The  thisUe's  downy  seed  my  fare, 

My  drink  the  mornmg  dew  > 
I  perch'd  at  will  on  ev'ry  spray, 
My  form  genteel,  my  plumage  gay, 

My  strains  for  ever  new. 
II. 
Bat  gaudy  plumage,  sprightly  strain, 
And  form  genteel,  were  all  in  vain. 

And  of  a  tranaieni  data  ;    ' 
For  caught,  and  cag'd,  and  starv'd  to  death, 
In  dying  sighs  my  little  breath 

Soon  passed  the  wiry  grate. 

lU.  .     , 

Thanks  gentle  swain,  for  ^11  my  woQii 
And  thanks  for  this  eifectual  close 

And  cure  of  ev'ry  ill ! 
More  emelty  could  no^e  express ; 
And  I,  if  you  had  shown  me  loss, 

Had  boon  your  pris'nor  stilL 


(816) 
PINE-APPLE  AND  THE  BEE. 


THE  pino-apples  in  triple  row, 
Were  basking  hot,  and  all  in  blow ; 
A  beo  of  most  discerning  taste 
Poreeiv*d  the  fragrance  as  he  pass\l, 
On  eager  wing  the  spoiler  came. 
And  8earcli*d  for  crannies  in  the  frame, 
Urg*d  his  attempt  on  ev'ry  side, 
To  ev*ry  pane  his  tnink  applied ; 
But  still  in  vain,  the  frame  was  ttghtj 
And  onlj  pervious  to  the  Kgbt ; 
Thus  having  wasted  half  the  day, 
He  trimm*d.his  flight  another  way. 

Methiuks,  1  said,  in  thee  I  find  . 
The  sin  and  madness  of  mankisid* 
To  joys  foibidden  man  aspires^ 
Consumes  his  soul  with  vain  desikros  'y 
Folly  the  spring  of  his  pursuit. 
And  disappointment  all  the  firuit 
While  Cjrnthio  ogies,  as  nhe^passes^ 
The  nymph  between  two  chariot  glasses, 
She  is  tiw  pine-apple,  and  he 
The  silly  unntooeMfia  beei. 
The  maid,  who  views  wiUi  pensive^air 
The  show-glass  firau^t  mik  gUtt'itn^  waM% 
Sees  watches,  braaelet%  liags,  and  loeketRi. 
But  sighs  at  thought  of  empty  pockets  ; 
Like  thine,  her  appetite  is  keen. 
But  ah  the  cruel  glass  between. 

Our  dear  delights  are  ofleu  such, 
fIzposM  to  view  but  not  lo  touch ; 


HORAUi:»  BOOK  H.  ODE  X.  SI 

The  sight  oui  foolish  heart  inflamefy 
We  long  for  pi^e-«p|^es  in  frames ; 
"With  hopeless  wish  one  looks  and  lingeis  ; 
One  breaks  the  glass,  and  eats  lus  fingeit ; 
But  they  whem  tmith  and  wisdom  lead, 
CWgathef  hoaey  from  a  weed. 


nORACE.  BOOK  XL  OSXR  IL 


I. 
RECEIVE^  dear  friend,  the  tmtha  I  tM^ 
80  shah  then  live  beyond  the  teach 

Of  adverse  Fortune's  pow'r ', 
Not  always  tempt  the  distant  deep, 
Nor  always  timorously  cre^ 

.  Along  the  treoch'roos  shore. 

n. 

He  that  holds  fast  the  goldea  mean,  . 
And  lives  contentedly  between    . 

The  little  and  the  great. 
Feels  not  the  wants  that  pinch  the  pooTy 
Ihx  plagues,  that  haxuA  the  rich  nuui*«  dooTf 

Indiiitt'ring  all  his  state,   y 

m.  / 

The  tallest  pine  feels  most  the  pow'r 
Of  wintry  blasts  ;  the  loftiest  tower 

Comes  heaidest  to  the  ground  ; 
The  bolts  that  spare  the  mountain's  ikbi 
His  cloud-capt  ennnence  divide, 
And  spread  iho  ruin  round. 
Vou  I.  19  . 


218  A  REFLECHOK,  At. 

IV. 

The  well-infenii'd  philosopbw 
lUjtnces  vrith.  a  wholesome  fear, 

•And  hopes  m  spite  of  pam ; 
If  winter  bellow  from  the  north. 
Soon  tlie  sweet  spring  comes  dxuncmg 

And  nature  laughs  again. 
V. 
What  if  thine  HeaT*nbe  overcast, 
The  dark  appearance  i^ill  not  last ; 

Expect  a  brighter  sky. 
Thi  God  that  striqgs  the  silVf  r  btyfTt . 
Awakes  sometimes  the  muses  too 

And  lays  his  arrows  by. 
VI. 
If  hindrances  obstmct  thy  way, 
Thy  magnanimity  display, 

And  lot  thy  strength  be  seen ; 
But  oh !  if  Fortune  fill  thy  sail 
With  more  than  a  propitious  gale, 

Take  half  thy  canvass  in. 


A  REFLECTION  ON  THE  FOREGOING  ODE 

AND  is  this  all  ?  Can  reason  do  no  more, 
.  Than  bid  me  shun  the  deep,  and  dread  the  shorp, 
Sweet  moralist  ?  afloat  on  life's  rough  sea. 
The  Christian  has  an  art  unknown  to  thee. 
He  holds  no  parley  witli  unmanly  fears ; 
Where  duty  bids,  he  confidently  steers, 
Faces  a  thousand  dangers  at  her  cah, 
And,  trusting  in  his  God,  surmounts  them  aO. 


(219) 


TIIE  LILY  AND  THE  ROSE. 


-     1. 

THE  Njrmph  must  loso  her  female  fxiendi 

If  more  admlr'd  than  she— 
But  where  will  fierce  contention  end, 

If  flow'rs  can  disagree  ? 
H. 
"Within  the  garden's  peaceful  scene 

Appeared  two  lovely  foes, 
Aspiring  to  the  rank  of  queen, 

The  Lily  and  the  Rose. 
III. 
The  Rose  soon  reddened  into  rage, 

And  swelling  with  disdain, 
Appoal'd  to  many  a  poet's  page, 

To  prove  her  right  to  reign. 

The  Lily's  height  bespoke  command, 

A  fair  imperial  flow'r ; 
She  seem'd  design'd  for  Flora'8  hand. 

The  sceptre  of  her  pow'r. 
V. 
This  civil  bick'ring  and  debate 

The  goddess  chanc'd  to  hear, 
And  flew  to  save,  ere  yet  too  late, 

The  pride  of  the  parterre  $ 
VI. 
Toura  is,  rifo  said,  the  nobler  hue, 

And  years  the  stateliei  mien : 
And  tin  a  third  surpasses  yon. 

Let  eadi  be  deem'd  a  queen 


220  LILIUM  ET  ROSA. 

VII. 
Thus,  sootli'd  and  reconcil'd,  each  seeks 

The  fairest  British  fair, 
The  seat  of  empire  is  her  cheeks^ 
They  reign  united  there. 


IDEM  LATINE  REDDITUM. 


•  I. 

HEU  inimicitias  quoties  park  temula  fofln», 

Quam  raro  pulchne  pulchra  placere  potest ' 
Sed  fines  ultra  solitos  disoordia  tendtt, 
.  Cum  flores  ipsos  hilis  et  ira  mOYOnt. 

n. 

Hortus  ubi  dulces  prisbet  tacitosque  recu«n% 
Se  fapit  in  partes  gens  animosa  duas ; 

Hie  sibi  regales  Amaryllis  Candida  cultuSi 
Illic  purpureo  vindicat  ore  Rosa. 

ni. 

Ira  Rosam  et  mentis  quesita  soperl^  tangimlt 

Multaqne  ferventi  vix  cohibenda  sinu, 
Dum  sibi  fautorum  ciot  undique  nomina  yatmii 

Jusque  suum,  multo  carmine  fbltai  furobal. 
IV. 
Altior  emicat  ilia,  et  celso  vertice  tmtat^ 

Ceu  flores  inter  non  habitura  paremy 
Fastiditque  alios,  et  nata  videtur  in  usih 

Imperii,  sceptrum,  Flora  quod  ipsfk^mlk 
V. 
Neo  Dea  non  tonsil  cItiILi  miumara  raHii 

Co!  curiB  est  pictas  pandere  mris  opss. 
Delieiasqne  suasnunquam  bob  promptatlidt 

Dam  Ueet  et  locus  est,  ut  tueatv,  ftdSfl. 


THE  POPLAR  FIELD.  221 

VI. 

£t  tibi  forma  datur  procerior  omnibos,  inqait  i 

£t  tibi,  principibus  qui  solet  esse,  color  ; 
£t  donee  yincat  qusedam  formosior  ambas, 

£t  tibi  reginis  nomen,  et  esto  tibL 
VII. 
His  ubi  sedatua  furor  est,  petit  utraque  nympham, 

Qualem  inter  Veneres  An^Iia  sola  parit ; 
Hanc  penes  imperiiim  est,  nihil  optaat  ampUtti,  Irajas 

Regnant  in  nitidis,  et  sine  lite,  genis. 


THE  POPLAR  FIELD 

THE  poplars  are  felled,  fareweU  to  the  shade. 
And  the  whispering  sound  of  the  cool  colonnade'; 
The  winds  pl^j  no  longer  ami  mng  in  the  leaves, 
Nor  Ouse  on  hia  bosom  their  image  receires. 

Twelve- years  have  elaps*d  since  I  last  took  a  view 
*Of  my  fav'rite  field,  and  the  bank  where  they  grew. 
And  now  in  thQ  grass  behold  they  as«  laid. 
And  the  tree  is  my  seat,  that  once  leatm«  a  shad*. 

The  blackbird  has  fled  to  another  retreat, 
Where  the  hazels  afford  him  a  screen  from  the  heat, 
And  the  seMie,  where  his  melody  charm'd  me  before^ 
Resounds  with  his  sweet-flowing  ditty  bo  more. 

My  fugitive  years  are  aU  hasting  away, 
Anj  I  must  6re  long  lie  as  lowly  as  they, 
Wtil  ft  turf  on  my  breast,  and  a  stona  atn^  head^ 
Gre  another  such  grove  sludl  arise  in  its  stead 

^Hs  a  sight  to  engage  me,  if  any  thing  can, 
To  muse  on  the  perishing  pleasures  of  man  t 
19  • 


3BE= 


892  IDEM  LAI  INE  REDDITUM. 

Though  his  life  be  a  drc.uii,  his  enjoyments,  I IM^ 
Have  a  bein^r  less  durable  ovon  than  he.* 


IDEM  LATINE  REDDITUM. 

POPULE^  cecidit  gratissima  copia  silyse,  . 
Conticuere  susurri,  omnisquc  e;4uiuit  umbra. 
NuIlflB  jam  levibus  se  miscent  frondibus  auitB, 
£t  nulla  in  iluvio  ramoflhfi  ludit  imago. 

Hei  mihi !  Ins  senos  dum  luctu  torqueor  annos, 
His  cogor  silvis  suetoque  carere  recessu 
Cum  sero  rediens ;  stratasque  in  gramine  cemem^ 
Insedi  arboribus,  sub  quels  orrare  solebam. 

Ah  ubi  nunc  meruloB  cantus  ?  Felieior  illura 
Silva  tegit,  dure  nondnm  permissa  bipenni ; 
Scilicet  ezustos  colles  camposque  patentes 
Odit,  et  indignans  et  non  rediturus  aMvit. 

Sod  q\u  suc^sas  doleo  snoeideff  et  ipde/ 
Et  prhis  httie  par^tis  quam  cre^efit  iiltera  «llvllr 
Flebor,  et,  exequiis  parvis  donatus,  hab^bo 
Defizum  lapidem  tumulique  cubantis  acervum. 

Tarn  siibito  periisse  videns  tam  digfta  nrtawft, 
Agnosoo  hnmiHiM  soiles  «t  tristia-isUt— 
Sit  licet  ipse  brevis,  volucriqufi  simillimus  ii^g;ilMnq^ 
Est  homini  breVior  citiusque  obitura  yoluptas. 

*  Hr  <>owper  afterwards  altsred  this  last  stMM  lb  i 
foHowiog  manaer : 
The  change  both  my  heart  and  my  fancy  employs 
I  reflect  on  the  Jraiky  of  nuai,  andbis  jo^n; 
Short-liv'd  as  we  are,  yet  our  pleasures,  we  see^ 
Have  a  stifl  shorter  «iate,  and  die  sooner  than  w«b 


^ 


O  MATUTINl  roreg,  aurstiae  salubrei, 
O  nemora,  et  IstiB  rivis  felieibos  herbe, 
Gramin«i  coUes,  et  anxsno  in  vallitNUi  waktm  1 
Fata  modo  dederint  quae  olim  in  mre  paterno 
Deliciasi  procnl.arte  procul  formidine  noYi, 
Qnam  vellem  ignotus,  quod  mens  mea  semper  ayebati 
Ante  larem  proprinm  placidam  expectare  senectanii 
Tom  demum*  ezactis  non  infaiiciter  annisy 
Sortiri  taciturn  lapidem,  aut  sub  cespide  condi  l 


CICINDELA. 


BT  TINCENT  BOURNE. 


Sub  sepe  exiguum  est,  nee  raro  in  margino  rip«| 

Reptilo,  quod  lucct  noctc,  diequo  latet. 
Vermis  habet  speciem,  sed  habet  de  bimine  noineii# 

At  prisca  a  foma  non  liquet,  undo  micet. 
Plerique  a  Cauda*  crcdunt  procedere  lumen  ', 

Neo  desunt,  credunt  qui  rutilare  caput. 
Nam  superas  Stellas  qune  nox  accendit,  ot  illi 

Parcami  eadem  lucem  dat,  moduloque  paireita. 
Forwtan  hoc  prudens  voinit  Natura  caveri, 

Ne  pcde  quis  duro  reptile  contereret. 
Cxiguam,  in  tenebris  ne  grcssum  oilbnderet  tt1hlf| 

PrfBtendi  voluit  forsitan  ilb.  facem. 
Slve  usum  hunc  Natura  parens,  seu  mahiH  Ulam, 

Baud  frustra  accensa  est  lux,  r|Ldii4|ue  ^ati. 
Ponite  Yos  fastiM)  humiles  noc  epeniit«,  imagtti ; 

^ando  habet  et  minimum  reptili^  quod  nHeat. 


«2sac 


I  THE  GLOW-WORM. 

TRANSLATION  Of  THE  FOREGOINO. 


I. 

BENEATH  the  hedge,  or  near  the  itreaoi 

A  worm  is  known  to  stray, 
That  shows  by  night  a  lucid  beam; 

Which  disappears  by  day. 
11. 
Disputes  have  been,'and  still  prevail, 

From  whence  his  rays  proceed  ; 
Some  give  that  honour  to  his  tail, 

And  others  to  his  head. 
III. 
But  this  is  sure — the  hand  of  might, 

That  kindles  up  the  skies, 
Gives  him  a  modicum  of  light 

Proportion'd  to  his  size. 
IV. 
Perhaps  indulgent  Nature  meant, 

By  such  a  lamp  bestow'd,  . 
To  bid  the  trav'ller,  as  he  went. 

Be  careful  where  he  trod ; 
V. 
Nor  crush  a  worm,  whose  useful  light 

Might  serve,  however  small^ 
80  show  a  stumbling  stone  by  night. 

And  save  him  from  a  fall. 
VI. 
Whate'er  she  meant,  tnis  truth  divio* 

Is  legible  and  plain, 
Tis  pow>  almighty  bids  him  shine, 

lior  bids  him  shine  in  viun. 


CORNICULA.  225 

VII 

*Te  proud  and  wealthy,  let  this  theme 

Teach  humbler  thoughts  to  you, 
Since  such  a  reptile  has  its  gem, 

And  boasts  its  splendour  too. 


CORNICULA- 
BY  Tiircsirr  boitshk. 

NI6RAS  inter  aves  avis  est,  qns  plunma  tnrree 

Antiquos  eedes,  celsaque  Fana  celit. 
Nil  tarn  sublime  est,  quod  non  audace  volatu, 

Aeriis  'spemens  inferiora,  petit. 
Quo  nemo  ascendat,  cui  non  vertigo  cerebrum 

Corripiat,  certe  hunc  seligit  iUa  locum. 
Quo  vix  a  terra  tu  suspicis  absque  tremore, 

Ilia  metu  ezpers  incolumisque  sedet. 
Lamina  delubri  supra  fastigia,  rentus  • 

Qua  cceli  spiret  de  rogione,  docet ; 
Hanc  ea  pros  reliquis  mavult,  securi  peri^, 

Nee  curat,  nedum  cogitat,  undo  cadet. 
Res  inde  hiimanus,  sedsummaper  etia,  sp«(5tal, 

£t  nihil  ad  sese,  quos  videt,  esse  videt. 
Concursus  epectat,  ploteaque  negotia  m  omm, 

Omnia  pro  nugis  at  sapienter  habef.   ♦ 
Clam  ores,  quas  infra  audit,  ^  forsitan  audit. 

Pro  rebus  nihHi  negligit,  et  crociljat. 
llle  tibi  invidcQil^  ^lix  Copnieul^,  j 

Qui  sic  humanis  reb^Me  vsilit 


(220) 
II.  THE  JACKDAW. 

TRAHSLATION  OF  THE  FORES OIV0. 


I. 

THERE  b  a  bird  who  by  hb  coat. 
And  by  tlte  hoarseness  of  his  noiiBf 

Might  be  suj^Ms'd  a. crow ; 
A  great  frequenter  of  the  church. 
Where  bishop-like  he  finds  a  perch. 

And  dormitory  too. 

n. 

Above  the  steeple  shines  a  plate, 
That  turns  and  turns  to  indicate 

From  what  point  blows  the  weather } 
Look  up— yovr  brains  begin  to  swinif 
Tis  in  the  clouds — ^that  pleases  hiiBf 

Ho  chooses  it  the  rather. 

in. 

Fond  of  the  speculative  heighti 
Thither  he  wings  his  airy  flighty 

And  thence  securely  sees 
The  bustle  of  the  raree  showi 
That  occupy  mankind  beloWy 

Secure  %nd  at  his  ease. 
IV. 
Ton  think,  no  doubt,  he  sits  andmiiiet 
On  future  broken  bones  and  bmiseiy 

If  he  should  chance  to  falL 
No :  not  a  single  thought  like  tbili 
»  Employs  his  philosophick  pate. 

Or  troubles  it  at  all 


AD  GRILLUM.  227 

V. 

He  fees,  that  tMs  great  rouBdaboiit, 
The  world,  with  all  its  rootloj  root. 

Church,  army,  phyeiek,  law. 
Its  customs,  and  its  businesses, 
Is  no  concern  at  all  of  his, 

And  says — ^what  says  he  ?— Cair. 
VI. 
Thrice  happy  bird !  I  too  have  seen 
Much  of  the  vanities  of  men ; 

And,  sick  of  having  seen  'em, 
Would  cheerfully  these  limbs  resigs 
For  such  a  pair  of  win^  as  thine, 

And  such  &  head  between  'em. 


AD    GRILXUM 

▲VACRBONTICUM.' 
BY  TUICXIIT  BOV«iri« 

O  QUI  me*  culin» 
ArifutahM  cboraulet, 
£t  Jiospes  es  cakunrus, 
Quiumnquo  conunorertf 
Felicitatis  omen ; 
Jucundiore  cantu 
Siquando  mo  salutes^ 
£t  ipse  te  ropendam, 
£t  ipso,  qua  valobo, 
Remunerabo  musa.  ' 


. . ^ 

J 
* 

ttU                      AD  GRILLUM. 

n. 

Dicerii  innoceiiiqne 

Et  gnixiB  inquiliniui ; 

Neo  Tjotitaos  raimiJi, 

Vi  florices  roraces, 

Muresve  eariosi, 

Vulgui  doDiMticonifli  i 

Sed  tutus  in  caraini 

Recessibus,  quiete^ 

Contentus  et  calore. 

ra. 

Befttior  Cicsda, 

Qutt  te  referro  fonntt^ 

Qu89  voce  te  videtur ; 

Et  laltitans  per  herbal,                                  "* 

Unius,  baud  secundro, 

JEstatis  est  chorista ; 

Tu  carmen  integratum. 

Lietus  per  universum 

Incontinenter  annom.                                        - 

IV. 

Te  nulla  Inz  relinquit, 

Te  nulla  nox  revisit, 

Non  mosioe  vaeaateii^ 

Curisve  non  solutum : 

Quin  amplies  canendo. 

Quin  ompUes  iHMiido, 

iEUtvtam,  Tel  oamir 

(8») 
in.  THE  CRICKET. 

TBANtLATIOV  OW  TfIB  r0BB6Oni«« 


L 

iJTTLB  inomte,  full  of  mirUii 
Chirping  on  my  kitchen  hearth, 
Wheresoe'*?  bo  thine  abodoy 
Always  harbinger  of  good, 
Pay  me  for  thy  warm  retreat 
With  a  long  moro  soil  and«Mroi4  * 
In  rotiun  thou  ahalt  receive 
Sneh  a  it^rain  a^i  I  can  give. 

11. 
Thus  thy  piaine  «baU  be  expre«i'4, 
Inoffenaiv9y  welcpme  guest ! 
While  the  r9t  19  on  th^  ecout, 
And  the  moniie  w)th  curioui  QDoml, 
WUb  whtA  Wfmm  else  infest 
Ev'iy  iUAt  end  fpoil  the  be^  i 
Frisldng  ti^m  faiefqre  the  lire, 
Tbon  hast  nU  t^e  heart's  desire. 

in. 

Though  in  voice  and  shape  they  be 
Form'd  as  if  akin  to  thee, 
ThoirsDrpassest,  h^pier  far, 
Happiest  grasshoppers  that  ore : 
Theirs  is  but  a  summer's  ntrng: 
Thine  endures  tlie  winter  Ion?. 
Unimpair'd,  and  shrill  and  I'loar, 
Melody  thtonghout  the  y»;ai* 


830  SIMILE  AOIT  IN  SIMILE. 

IV. 
Neither  night,  nor  dawn  of  day, 
Puts  a  pliriod  to  thy  play  ; 
Sing  thon-*«uid  extend  thy  spaa 
Far  beyond  tlie  date  of  man. 
Wretched  man  whose  years  are  spent 
In  repining  discontent, 
Lives  not,  aged  though  he  be, 
Haifa  span  compar*d  with  thee. 


SIMILE  AGIT  m  SIMILE 

BY  VINCENT  BOURNE. 

CRIST ATUS,  pictisque  ad  Thaida  Psittacns  aliiy 

Missus  ab  Eod  miinus  amanto  vonit. 
Ancillis  mahdat  primom  formare  loquelam, 

ArchididascaliiB  dat  sibi  Thais  opus. 
Psittace,  ait  Thais,  fingitque  sonantia  moUo 

Basia,  quoB  docilis  moUe  tedngit  avis. 
Jam  captat,  jam  dimidiat  tyrunculis ;  et  jam 

Integral  auditos  articulatque  sonos; 
Psittace  mi  pulcher  pulchelle,  hera  dieit  alumno  ; 

Psittace  mi  pulchcr,  reddit  alumnus  herie. 
Jamque  canit,  ridot,  deciesque  sagrotat  in  hora, 

Et  vocat  ancillas  nomine  quamque  sue 
Multaque  scurratur  mendax,  et  multa  joeatnr, 

Et  lepido  popiiilum  detinet  augurio. 
Nunc  tremulum  illudet  fratrem,  qui  suspicit,  et  Pd 

Carnalis,  quisquis  te  docet,  inquit,  homo  est ; 
ArguttB  nunc  stridct  anus  argutulus  im^r  j 

Respicit,  et  ncbulo  es,  quisquis  es,  iiiquit  anus. 
Quando  fuit  melior  tyro,  meliorve  magistra ! 

Quando  duo  in,^eniis  tam  ootcrp  pares  ' 
Ardna  discenti  nulla  est,  res  nulla  docenti 

Ardua  ;  cum  dcroat.  f<nmina,  discit  avis 


HISTORY  OF  JOHN  Gn4Pni.         233 

n. 

Ad  flpecolum  ornabat  nitidos  Bi^hella  crinas, 
Cum  dixit  mea  lux,  heus,  oane,  sumo  lyram. 

Namque  Ijram  juxta  positam  cum  eamune  vidit 
Suave  quidem  carmen  dulcisonamque  lyram. 

iri. 

Fila  lyrsB  yocemque  paro,  suspina  snrgunt, 

£t  miscent  numeris  murmora  mssta  tnein 
Dumque  tute  memoro  laudes,  Euphelia,  formm, 

Tota  anima  interea  pendet  ab  ore  Chloen 
IV. 
Sobrubet  iUa  pudore,  et  contrahit  altera  frontem 

Me  torquet  mea  mens  conscia,  psallo,  tremo  i 
Atque  Cupidinca,  dixit  Dea  cincta  corona, 

Hen !  fkllendl  artem  quam  didicere  panim. 


THE  DIVERTINO  HISTORY 

OF 

JOHN  GILPIN ; 

Showing  Itow  Ite  went  further  tlutn  he  intended^  and 
eame  safe  lutme  again. 


JOHN  GILPIN  was  a  citkcn 

Of  credit  and  renown, 
A  trainband  captain  eke  was  he 

Of  famous  London  town. 

John  Gilpm*^  s^use  said  to  her  dear, 
^  Though  wedded  we  have  been 
Tnese  twice  ten  tedious  years,  yet  Wtt 
No  holy-day  have  seen.  '^ 
20« 


^i^C 


CS4  HISTORY  OF  JOHN  GILPIN 

^  To-morrow  is  our  wedding-day, 

And  wo  will  then  repair 

Unto  th«  beQ  at  Edmontoa, 

All  in  a  chaise  and  pur. 

My  sister,  and  my  sister's  child. 

Myself,  and  children  three, 
WIU  fill  ilia  chaise  ;  so  yon  must  rid* 

On  horseback  after  we.  ^ 

H^fioon  replied,  I  do  admire 

Of  womankind  but  one, 
And  you  are  she,  my  dearest  dtsw, 

Therefore  it  shall  be  done. 

V^  I  am  a  Knen-draper  bold, 

As  all  the  world  doth  know, 

And  my  good  friend  the  calender 

Will  lend  his  horso  to  go.*^ 

Quoth  Mrs.  Gilpin,  that's  well  said, 

And  for  that  wine  is  dear, 
We  will  be  fumisli'd  with  our  own^ 

Which  is  both  bright  and  clear.  ^ 

John  Gilpin  kiss'd  his  loving  wife ; 

O'erjoy'd  was  he  to  find, 
That  tliouorh  on  pleasure  she  was  bent. 

She  had  a  frugal  mind. 

The  morning  came,  the  chaise  was  bronghty 

But  yet  wia  not  allow'd 
To  drive  up  to  the  aoor,  lest  all 

Should  say  l^t  ^lie  was  proud. 

So  thr«e  ^rs  off  the  chaise  was  stmj'd. 

Where  they  did  all  get  in ; 
Six  precious  souls,  and  all  agog 

To  dash  through  thick  and  thin. 


HKrroRjr  of  john  gilpin.        235 

B  whip,  round  wont  the  wh^flig, 

Were  i6or  folk  so  glad ; 
The  sMes  ted  rattle  underneath, 
Aeof  Cheapeide  were  mad. 

John  Gilpin  at  his  horse's  side 

8eiz*d  fast  the  flowing:  mane, 
And  np  he  got,  in  haste  to  ride, 

But  soon  came  down  again ; 

For  saddle-tree  searoe  reached  had  he^ 

His  journey  td  begin. 
When  turning  round  Mm  head,  lie  mm 

Three  customers  come  in. 

So  down  he  came ;  for  loss  of  time 

Although  it  grier'd  him  scMre, 
Yet^lpss  of  pence,  fall  well  heiaewi 

Would  trouble  him  much  mete. 

Twas  long  before  the  cnstomepi  , 

Were  suited  to  their  mind, 
When  Betty  screaming  came  dowm 

^  The  wme  is  lefiJifihindr 

Good  kck  f^^oth  he-iyet  brm^  it  i 

My  leathern  belt  likewise, 
In  which  I  bear  my  tnis^y  gmntdp 

When  I  do  ezercim.  ^ 


Now  tidtfynm  Gj^in«  (carefid  eosl  !> 
Had  two  stone  bottles  feond. 

To  hdd  the  Uqasr  that  Am  lov'd^ 
And  keep  it  safe  and  aomd. 


Eaeh  bottla  had  a  mtffing  ear. 
Through  whida  the  belt  he 

And  hnng  a  bottle  ea  each  aidoi 
To  make  his  balance  true. 


HISTORY  I' 


2:iC 

<  Then  over  ill,  iJmi 


JOHN  (IILPIN. 

mifrht  be 
Equijjp'd  from  top  to  toe, 
His  loiijx  rr.d  cloak,  woll  bnish*d  aod  nesk 
»      lie  manfully  tli«J  threw. 

Now  sec  liim  mounted  onco  agoia 

Upon  ilia  ulmblb  steed, 
Full  sluwly  parinfr  o'er  tho  stonoff, 

Witli  caution  and  good  heed. 

But  findint^soon  a  smoother  road 

Beneath  his  wt'll  shod  feet, 
Tho  snorting  beast  hej^an  to  trot, 

AVhich  gaird  him  in  his  seat. 

So  fiiir  and  softly,  John  ho  cried, 

But  John  he  cried  in  vain. 
That  trot  became  a  gallop  soon, 

In  spite  of  curb  and  rein. 

So  stoojjinj^  doiyn,  as  needs/Iie  must 

Who  Ounnot  sit  upright^ 
Ho  graspY  tho  mano  wUii  both  his  li«]id% 

/.  id  eko^with  all  hi*4iight. 

His  horso,  v^o  netor  in  that  sort 

Had  handled  been  before, 
Wliat  thing  upon  liis  back  had  got 

Did  wonder  more  and  more. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  neck  or  naught ; 

Away  went  hat  and  wig ; 
He  Uttlo  dreamt  when  ho  sot  out, 

Of  ninning  such  a  rig. 

Tho  wind  did  blow,  the  cloak  did  fly, 

Liko  streamer  long  and  gay, 
Till,  loop  and  button  failing  both, 

At  last  it  flew  away. 


HISTORY  OF  JOHN  GU^PIN.  237 

Then  might  all  people  well  diieeni 

The  bottles  he  had  eliiiig ; 
A  bottle  swmging  at  each  nde, 

As  hath  been  said  or  simg. 

The  dogs  did  baik,  the  children  seiem^, 

Up  flew  the  windows  all ; 
And  ev'rv  sotfl  cried  ottty'Ven  donelf 

As  lood  as  he  conM  baid. 

Awaj  #ent  Gilpin— who  bat  hd  f 
^      Uk  fame  soon  spread  aroond, 

He  carries  weight !  he  rides  a  nee !  ^\^ 
Tisfor  a  thousand  pound  /^ 

And  sUn,  as  fast  as  lie  drew  near, 

Twas  wonderful  to  view, 
How  in  a  trice  the  turnpike  men 

Their  gates  wide  open  threw. 


>'s  fiadcs  to  stnoke 


But  still  he  seem'd  to  carry  wei|^ 
I       With  leathern  girdle  brac*d; 
\For  all  might  see  the  hottle-neefaf 
Still  dangling  at  Iris  waist. 

TkMWthrougi  merry  Islii^toii^ 
TheseWrrygafl^ls  ho  did  plifi 

if ntil he^inrtfito  the  Wash     *     / 
Of£c[monton^so  gay ;  ^ 


At  Edmonton  Uis  loving  wife 

From  llio  balcony  spied 
Her  tender  husband,  wond'ring  mndi 

To  see  how  he  did  ride. 

Stop,  stop,  John  Gilpin — Here's  Hm  hiiuo^ 
They  all  at  once  did  cry ; 
^he  diimS^  waits,  and  we  aro  tir*4^ 
Said  GilpmAso  omlf 

But  yet  his  horse  was  not  a  whit 

Inclui'd  to  tarry  there ; 
For  why  ? — his  owner  had,  a  house 

Full  ten  miles  off,  at  Ware. 

So  like  an  arrow  swifl  he  flew. 

Shot  by  an  archer  strongf ; 
So  did  he  fly — wliich  brings  ms  to 

The  middle  of  my  song. 

Away  went  Gilpm  out  of  breath. 

And  sore  against  fals  will, 
Till  at  his  friend  tiie  calender's 

His  horse  at  last  stood  still. 

The  calender,  amaz*d  to  seo 

His  neighbour  in  such  trim, 
Laid  down  his  pipe,  flew  to  the  gate. 

And  thus  accosted  him : 

.  What  news  ?  what  news  ?  your  tidings  tal| ; 
Tell  me  you  must  and  shall — 
Say  why  bareheaded  you  are  como, 
Or  why  ycu  come  at  all  P^'^ 


HISTORY  OF  JOHN  GILPIN.  239 

Now  Gilpin  had  a  pleasant  wit, 

And  lov*d  a  timely  joke ;  • 

And  thus  onto  the  calender 

In  merry  guise  he  spoke : 

I  came  because  your  horse  would  come ; 

.Andy  if  I  well  forbode. 
My  hat  and  wig  will  soon  be  here. 
They  are  upon  the  road.*^ 

The  calender  right  glad  to  find 

His  friend  in  merry  pin, 
Retum'd  him  not  a  dngle  word^ 

Bat  to  the  house  went  in : 

Whencb  stndght  he  came  with  hat  and  w% 

A  wig  that  flow'd  behind, 
A  hat  not  much  the  worse  for  woar^ 

£ach  comely  in  its  kind. 

He  held  them  up,  and  in  liis  turn 
•  ^     Thus  showed  his  ready  wit, 
My  head  is  twice  as  big  as  yours,     ^  ;  ' 
They  therefore  needs  must  fit^  \^' 

^M}ut  let  me  scrape  the  dirt  away 
That  hangs  upon  your  face ;        ' 
And  stop  and  eat,  for  well  you  may 
Bo  in  a  hungry  case.  * 

Said  JghnV  it  is  my  wedding  day, 

And  all  the  world  would  stare, 
If  wifo.  should  dine  at  Edmonton, 

And  I  should  dine  at  Ware.-^ 

So  turning  to  his  horso,  ho  said, 
\^  I  am  in  haste  to  dine  ; 
Twas  for  jrour  pleasure  you  came  here, 
.  You  shall  go  back  for  mine  ;>'^ 


240  HISTORY  OF  JOHN  GU^IN. 

Ah,  liK^em  q;»eech,  and  bootless  boost* 
^  For  which  he  paid  full  dear  ; 

For,  while  he  spake,  a  brajing  ass 
Did  sing  most  loud  and  clear. 

Whereat  his  horse  did  snort,  as  1m 

Had  heard  a  lion  roar, 
And  gallop'd  off  with  all  his  BMghitf 

As  he  had  done  be^e. 

Awajr  went  Gilpin,  and  away 
Went  Gilpin's  hat  and  wiff  » 

He  lost  them  sooner  than  at  firsi. 
For  why— they  were  too  ^g. 


<^ 


Jfym  nislrsss  GHprn,  when  she  4Wir' 

Her  harinnd  posting  down 
Into  the  ooontry  &i  away  i 

She  pull*d  out  half  a  crown ; 

And  thus  unto  the  youth  diesaidy 

That  drove  them  to  the  Bell, 
This  shall  be  yours,  when  you  bring  hack 

My  husband  safe  and  welL^ 

The  youth  didri^^  and  soon  did  meetf 

John  ooming  back  amain : 
Whom  in  a  trice  he  tried  to  stop. 

By  catching  at  his  rein ; 

But  not  performing  what  hemeantf 

And  ghidly  would  have  done, 
The  frighted  steed  he  frighted  morty  . 

And  made  him  faster  run. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away 

Went  postboy  at  liis  heels, 
Thd  postboy's  horse  right  glad  to  miss  ~" 

Tho  lurab'rmg  of  the  wheels.  *         — 


..iM^Hujf^ 


inSTORY  OF  JOHN  GILPIN.  241 

Six  gentlemen  upon  the  rotd, 

Thus  teeing  Gilpin  fly, 
With  postboy  scamp'ring  in  the  retff 

They  raised  the  hue  and  cry  t-^ 

"^  Stop  thief!  stop  thief  I  *«  highwayata!^ 
Not  one  of  ^em  was  mate ; 
And  all  and  each  that  pass*d  that  way 
Did  join  in  the  pursuit. 

And  now  the  turnpike  gates  agaiB 

Flew  open  in  abort  space  ; 
The  ton-men  thinking  as  before. 

Thai  Gilpin  rode  a  race. 

I 
And  ap  ke  d|d,4iid  won  it  too. 

For  he  got  first,  to  town ; 
Nor  stopp'd  till  wjiere  he  did  get  op 

He  did  figun  get  down. 

Now  lei us  i&ngf  lei%  live  theld^g, 

And  Gflpuk.leng  live  fae  ; 
And  when  he  iie<t4o4Kjide  lAtoad, 

llay'4%e  dieie  teeeel 

V0&.L  r 


AN  EPISTLE 

TO 

AN  AFFUCTED  PROTESf  ANT  LADY 

IK  rSAVCK. 


A  STRANGER'S  purpose  in  thoie  kyi 
Is  to  congratulate,  and  not  to  praise. 
To  give  the  creature  tlie  Creator's  due 
Were  sin  in  me,  and  an  offence  to  yon. 
From  man  to  maHi  <a  e'en  to  woman  piMd  ,  ,    . 
Praise  is  the  medium  of  a  knavish  trade, 
A  coin  by  Crad  for  Folly's  use  design'df 
Spurious,  and  only  current  with  the  blind. 

Tlie  path  of  sorrow,  and  that  path  alooB 
Leads  to  the  land  where  sorrow  is  unknown  * 
No  traveller  ever  reached  that  blest  abode^ 
Who  found  not  thorns  and  briers  in  the  road. 
The  World  may  dance  along  the  flow*ry  plaint 
Cheer'd  as  they  go  by  many  a  sprightly  strain^ 
Whore  Nature  has  her  mossy  velvet  spread, 
With  unshod  feet  they  yet  securely  tread ; 
Admonish'd,  scorn  the  caution  and  the  friend. 
Bent  all  on  pleasure,  heedless  of  its  end. . 
But  he,  who  knew  what  human  hearts  would  promti 
How  slow  to  learn  the  dictates  of  his  love, 
That,  hard  by  nature  and  of  stubborn  will, 
A  life  of  ease  would  make  tliom  harder  BtUIy  • 


T^^ 


AN  EPISTLE  lO  A  LADY.  2^ 

In  pity  to  the  ■ouls  his  grace  do8ign*d 
To  rewme  from  the  ruins  of  mankind, 
Called  for  a  cloud  to  darken  all  their  years, 
And  said,  ^  Go,  spend  thorn  in  the  Tale  of  tern.** 
O  balmy  galas  of  pcml-reriving  air ! 
O  salutary  streams  that  murmur  .there ! 
These  flowing  from  the  fount  of  grace  above. 
Those  breath'd  from  lips  of  everlasting  lore. 
The  flinty  soil  indeed  their  feet  annoys ; 
Chill  blarts  of  trouble  nip  their  springing  joys  ; 
An  envious  world  will  interpose  its  frown. 
To  mar  delights  superlour  f  o  its  owv 
And  many  a  pang,  exper»6nc*d  still  wHhm 
Renflnd  diem  of  their  hated  inmate,  sin ; 
But  ills  of  ev*ry  shade  and  ev*ry  name, 
Transform*d  to  blesrings,  ndss  their  cruel  afan ; 
And  ev*ry  momenta  calm,  that  soothes  the  htti^ 
Itgiv^  in  earnest  of  eterjial  rest. 

Ah*  be  not  sad,  although  thy  lot  he  east 
Far  from  the  flock,  and  hi  a  boundless  waste  > 
No  dkepherds*  tents  within  tt^  view  appear^  ^ 

But  the  chief  Shepheid  even  there  is  near  ; 
Thy  tender  sorroVs,  and  thy  plaintivo  stmin 
Fkiw  in  a  foreign  land,  but  not  in  vara ;     . 
Thy  tears  all  Issue  from  a  source  divine, 
And  ov^  drop  be^ieaks  a  Saviour  thioe*- 
80  onee  in  Gideon's  fleece  the  dews' were  ioun^ 
And  draqghl  on  all  t&e  drooping  lierbs  aronod. 


(244) 

REV.  W.  CAWTHdRNST  UNIWft 


L 

UNWIN,  I  ihoiM  birt  in  np^ 

The  kindnait  of  a  ^nmad, 
Whose  worth  deeervetf  w  wwan  mhffi 

As  ever  friendship  pmui'df 
Thy  nulie  omttt^Ml  in  a  page 
Tbil  would  reebdm  a  Tieious  a^ 

It  . 
A  imion  fi>rin*d,  as  mine  with  the^^ 

Not  rasMy,  nor  hi  sper^ 
May  beas  Ibnrent  in  degHief 

And  mmiL  bk  itb  Sbrt, 
And  may  ae  rich  bl  eodtfbft  |if##i^ 
As  that  of  trao  fiaMMU  k^rii; 

HL 
The  hod  inserted  in  the  rind^ 

The  bud  of  peach  or  rose, 
Adorns,  though  difhring  hi  itftldli^ 

The  stock  whereon  it  grows, 
With  flow'r  as  sweet,  or  fruit  as  fidr» 
As  if  produced  by  Nature  there. 

IV. 
Not  rich,  I  render  what  I  may, 

I  seize  thy  name  in  haste, 
And  place  it  in  this  first  essay. 

Lost  this  should  prove  the  last. 
'TIS  where  it  should  be — ^in  a  plan, 
That  holds  in  view  the  good  of  man. 


'"-'"^-'"''■*TI' 


TO  THE  REV.  W.  a  UNWOt  245 

V. 

Tbib  poet's  lyre,  to  fix  hb  fiane, 

Sboiild  be  tlM  poet's  hewt ; 
Aiftctkm  lights  a  brighter  flame 

Thaa  ever  bki'd  hj  art 
So  nrases  on  these  lines  sttaad} 
Lthepoetinthefijend. 


MD  or  TOL.  I. 


i  X- 


POEMS, 

BY 

WILLIAM  COWPER,  ESQ.. 

TOOETOEK  WITH  HIS 

POSTHUMOUS  POETRY, 

AH© 

A  SKETCH  OF  HIS  LIFE 
BY  JOHN  JOHNSON,  LL.  D. 

THREE   VOLUMES   FN   ONK. 

NEW  EDITION. 
BOSTON 

PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON,  &  CO 

no  WASHINGTON  STRKKT 
1853. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


The  history  of  tho  following  production,  is  brieiljr 
tliis  •  A  lady,  fond  of  blank  v«rso,  demanded  a  pooro 
of  that  kind  from  tho  author,  and  gave  him  the  Son 
for  a  subject.  He  obeyed  ;  and,  having  much  leisure, 
connected  another  subject  with  it ;  and  pursuing  tho 
train  of  thought  to  which  his  situation  and  turn  of 
mind  led  him,  brought  forth,  at  length,  instead  of  the 
trifle  which  he  at  first  intended,  a  serious  afiaur — t 
Volume  ' 

In  the  poem  on  the  suoject  of  Education,  he  would 
be  very  sorry  to  stand  suspected  of  having  aimed  his 
censure  at  any  particular  school.  His  objections  are 
inch  as  naturally  apply  themselves  to  schools  in  ge- 
neral. If  there  were  not,  as  for  the  most  part  thore  is, 
wilful  neglect  in  those  who  manage  them,  and  an 
eipission  even  of  such  discipline  as  they  are  suscepti- 


ADVERTISEMENT. 
Me  of|  the  daydcin  are  yet  too  numerous  for  minute 
attention :  and  the  aching  hearts  of  ton  thousand  pa- 
rents, mourning  under  th^  bittores^  of  all  disappoint- 
ments, attest  the  truth  of  the  allegation.  His  quarrel, 
therefore,  is  with  the  mischief  at  large,  and  not  witk 
an?  poxticular  instance  of  iL 


CONTENTS. 


TuK.TA8K,inSixbook».  Page 

BookS.  Th9  Sofa,         -       •  7 

II.  The  Time-piece,         ...        -      29 
\    III.  The  Garden,  -  .  -  -        -        •         52^ 

^1  IV.  The  Winter  Evemng,         -        •        •      76 ' 
W.  The  Winter  Morning  Walk,    -  98 

VI.  The  Winter  Walk  at  noon,         -        -    123 
Epistle  to  Joseph  Hill,  Esq.-   -        -        -  ^^      .. 

Tirocinium :  or,  a  Review  of  Schools,       -       -     fK'  ^* 
To  the  Reverend  Mr.  Newton,       -      '  -        -        180 
•4»  On  the  Receipt  of  my  Mother's  Picture  out  i£ 
Norfolk,  -        -        -        - 

Friendship, 

The  Moralizer  corrected,  .       •       •       . 

Catharina,      ----••• 

.  The  Faithful  Bird> • 

rhe  Needless  Alarm,      .       -        -       •       - 
Boadicea,      .     -        *        •  .       -        • 

Heroism,        -        -        '        - 
On  a  mischievous  Bull,  which  the  Owner  of 

j     him  sold  at  the  Author's  instance,    • 
Animus  Memorablis,  1789.    Written  in  comme- 
moration of  his  majesty's  happy's  reco- 
very,     

Hyinn  fof  the  use  of  the  Sunday  School  at  Ol- 
iiey,         -        -  - 


181 

a85 

191 

193 

195- 

196 

200 

202 

205 


206 


208 


./ 


He 


CONTENTfa. 

Ptgt 
BtaniM^  tobjoined  to  ft  Bill  of  Mortality  for  tho 

year  1787^   -       -                        •        -  209 

The  tame  for  1788,    •*               •       •       •       •  211 

The  same  for  1789, 213 

The  aame  for  1790,    • 214 

The  flame  for  1792,         -----  216 

The  same  for  1793,    --.-•-  218 

inacription  for  the  tomb  of  Mr.  Hamilton,  '    •  220 

Ipitaph  on  a  Hare      -        *       -        -      •  "^    -  ib. 

Ipitaphium  Altemm,     -        •        •        •        -  223 

Acconnt  of  the  Author*!  treatment  of  Harefl,     •  23f 


THE  TASK. 


THE  SOFA, 


ARQUMENT  OP  THE  FIKST  BOOK. 

llbioricA.  deduction  of  seats^  from  the  Stool  to  the  Sofk— A 
Setioolboy^i  ramble— A  walk  m  th^ountry—The  scene  described 
— Rural  sounds  as  well  as  sighu  delightful— Another  walk- 
Mistake  c<mcerning  the  charms  of  solttutfe  corrected — Colonnades 
commended — Alcove,  and  the  view' from  it — ^The  Mrilderness 
The  grove — The  thresher— The  necessity  and  benefit  of  exercise 
—The  works  of  nature  superiour  to,  and  m  some  instances  inimi- 
table fay,  art-*The  wearbomeness  of  what  is  commonly  called  a 
mb  of  pleasure— Change  of  scene  sometimes  expedient— -A  com- 
mon dMcribed,  and  the  character  of  crazy  Kate  introduced — 
Gipsiev— Tlie  blessings  of  civilined  life — lliat  state  most  farottr- 
able  to  virtue— The  South  Sea  islanders  compassionate^  but 
chiefly  Omai — His  present  state  of  mind  supposed — Civilised 
life  friendly  to  virtue,  but  not  great  cities— Great  oitiee,  and  Lon- 
don in  particular,  allowed  their  due  praise,  but  censored— me 
ehamp^re— The  book  concludes  with  a  reflection  on  the  fatal 
^eeU  of  dbsipation  and  effeminacy  upon  o«r  poblie  bm— om. 


I  SING  the  Sofa.    I,  who  lately  song 

Trathy  Hope,  and  Charity,*  and  touched  with  awe 

The  solemn  chords,  and,  with  a  trembling  ftand| 

Escaped  with  pain  from  that  advent'rous  flight, 

Now  seek  repose  upon  an  humbler  theme ;  6 

The  theme,  though  humble,  yet  august  and  proud 

Th'  occasion — for  the  fair  commands  the  song. 

Time  was,  when  dothing,  sumptuous  or  Sar  use, 
Save  their  own  painted  skins,  our  sires  had  none 
As  yet  black  breeches  were  not ;  satin  smooth,         10 
Or  velvet  soft,  or  plush  with  shaggy  pile  : 
The  hardy  chief,  upon  the  rugged  rock 
Wash'd  by  the  sea,  or  on  the  gravelly  bank 
•  See  Poems   Vol..  I 


8  THE  TASK. 

Thrown  up  by  wintry  torrents  roaring  loud, 

Fearlem  of  wrong,  reposed  liis  weary  strength.         15 

Those  barb'rous  ages  past,  succeeded  next 

The  birthday  of  Invention ;  weak  at  first, 

Dull  in  design,  and  clumsy  to  perform. 

Joint-stools  were  then  created ;  on  tliree  legs 

Upborne  they  stood.    Three  legs  upholding  firm      90 

A  massy  (Jab,  in  fashion  square  or  round. 

On  such  a  stool  immortal  Alfred*  sat, 

And  sway'd  the  sceptre  of  his  infant  realms : 

And  such  in  ancient  halls  and  mansions  drear 

May  still  be  seen ;  but  perforated  sore,  25 

And  driird  in  holes,  the  solid  oak  is  found, 

By  worms  voracious  eating  through  and  tlirough. 

At  length  a  generation  more  refin'd 
Improved  the  simple  plan ;  made  threjB  legf  f^ffr, 
Gave  them  a  twisted  form  vermicular,  30 

And  o*er  the  seat,  with  plenteous  wadding  stuflTd, 
Induc*d  a  splendid  cover,  green  and  blue, 
Yellow  and  red,  of  tapestry  richly  wrought 
And  woven  close,  or  needlework  sublime. 
There  might  ye  see  the  piony  spread  v/ide,  35 

The  full-blown  rose,  the  shepherd  and  his  lass, 
Lapdog  and  lambkin  with  black  staring  eyes, 
Aiid  parrots  with  twin  cherries  in  their  beak. 

Now  came  the  cane  from  India,  smooth  and  bright, 
"With  nature's  varnish  ;  sever'd  intp  stripes,  40 

That  interlaced  each  other,  these  supplied 
Of  texture  firm  a  lattice-work,  that  braced 
The  new  machine,  and  it  became  a  chair. 
But  restless  was  the  chair ;  the  back  erect 
Distressed  the  weary  loins,  that  felt  no  ease  ;  45 

The  slipp*ry  seat  betrayed  the  sliding  part 
That  press'd  it,  and  the  feet  hung  dangling  down, 
Anxious  in  vain  to  find  the  distant  floor. 
These  for  the  rich ;  the  rest,  whom  Fate  had  placed 
In  modest  n;ediocnty,  content  50 

Witli  base  materials,  sat  on  w^ell-tann'd  hidost 


THE  SOFA.  9 

Obdarate  and  unyielding,  glassy  smooth, 
With  here  and  there  a  tufl  of  crimson  yarn, 
Or  scarlet  crewel,  in  the  cushion  fix'd, 
If  cushion  mi|rht  be  call'd,  what  harder  seemed        55 
Than  the  firm  oak,  of  which  tlie  frame  was  form'd. 
No  want  of  timber  then  was  felt  or  fear'd 
In  Albion*8  ha|^y  isle.    The  lumber  stood 
Ponderous  aad  fiz*d  by  its  own  massy  weight 
But  elbows  still  were  wanting ;  these,  some  saj,     60 
An  aldermaa  of  Cripplegate  contrived  ; 
And  some  ascribe  th'  invention  to  a  priest 
Burly,  and  big,  and  studious  of  his  ease. 
But  rude  at  firsts  and  not  with  easy  slope 
Receding  wide,  they  pressed  against  the  ribs,  G5 

And  bniis'd  the  side  ;  and,  elevated  high. 
Taught  the  raised  shoulders  to  invade  Uio  ears 
iJbxifg  time  elapsed  or  e'er  our  rugged  sires 
Complained,  though  incommodiously  pent  in. 
And  ill  at  ease  behind.    The  ladies  iirst  70 

Gan  murmur,  as  became  the  softer  sex. 
Ingenious  Fancy,  never  better  pleased 
Thata  when  employed,  t*  accommodate  the  fair, 

Heard  the  sweet  moan  with  pity,  and  devised 

The  soil  sgtt^;  one  elbow  at  each  end,  76 

And  in  the  midst  an  elbow  it  received, 

United,  yet  divided,  twain  at  once. 

So  lAi  two  kings  of  Brentford  on  one  throne ; 

And  so  two  citizens,  who  take  the  air, 

Close  paek'd,  and  smiling,  in  a 'chaise  and  ona      "  80 

But  relazatbn  of  the  languid  frame. 

By  soft  reounbency  of  outstretched  limbs. 

Was  bliss  reserved  for  happier  days.    So  slow 

The  growth  of  what  is  excellent ;  so  hard 
i  T*  attain  perfection  in  this  nether  world.  85 

Thus  first  Necessity  invented  stools. 

Convenience  next  suggested  elbow-chairs, 

A«dtuxury  th*  accomplish^  Sofa  last. 


Id  TflE  TASK. 

Tho  nurso  sleeps  sweetly,  hir'd  to  watch  the  Atk 
Whom  snoring  she  disturbs.    As  sweetlj  he,  90 

Who  quits  the  coach-box  at  a  midnight  hoar. 
To  sleep  within  tho  carriage  more  secure. 
His  legs  depending  at  the  open  door. 
Sweet  sleep  enjoys  the  curate  in  his  desk, 
Tho  tedious  rector  drawling  o*er  his  head  ;  9S 

And  sweet  the  clerk  below.    But  neither  sleep 
Of  lazy  nurse,  who  snores  the  sick  man  dead ; 
Mor  his,  who  quits  the  box  at  midnight  hour 
To  slumber  in  the  carriage  more  secure ; 
Nor  sleep  enjoy'd  by  curate  in  his  desk ;  100 

Nor  yet  the  dozmgs  of  thjB  clerk,  are  sweet, 
Ck>mpar'd  with  the  repose  the  Sofa  yields. 

O  may  I  live  exempted  (while  1  live  . 
Guiltless  of  pamper 'd  appetite  obscene) 
From  pangs  arthritic,  that  infest  the  toe    ^  106 

Of  libertine  Excess.    The  Scfa  suits 
The  gouty  limb,  'tis  true  :  but  goltty4imb. 
Though  on  a  Sofa,  may  I  never  feel :  \ 
For  I  have  lov'd  the  rural  walk  through  mnes 
Of  grassy  swarth,  close  cropped  by  nibbUng  sheep,  110 
And  skirted  thick  with  intertexture  firm 
Of  thorny  boughs ;  have  lov*d  the  rural  walk 
O'et  hills,  through  valleys,  and  by^Iveri*T5ink,      * 
K'cr  since  a  truant  boy  I  pass'd  my  boimds 
T'  enjoy  a  ramble  on  the  banks  of  Thames ;  115 

And  still  remember,  not  without  regret, 
Of  hours,  that  sorrow  since  has  much  endear*d, 
How  oft,  my  slice  of  pocket  store  consum'd, 
fetill  hung'ring,  penny  less,  and  far  from  h<Hne, 
I  fod  on  scarlet  hips  and  stony  haws,  1^ 

Or  blushing  crabs,  or  berries,  that  emboss 
The  bramble,  black  as  jet,  or  sloes  austere. 
Hard  faro  !  but  such  as  boyish  appetite 
Disdains  not ;  nor  tho  palate,  undoprav'd 
By  culinary  arts,  unsay 'ry  deems.  .  JSH 


J 


THE  SOFA.  II 

No  5c/a4ben-«wwt8d  my  v«tiim ; 
Ndr  Sofa  then  I  needed.    Youth  repaira 
His  wasted  Sf^irits  quickly,  b^  long  toil 
Incurring  short  fatigue ;  and,  though  our  yeaifi 
As  life  declines,  speed  rapidly  away,  131 

And  not  a  year  but  pilfers  as  he  goes 
Some  youthful  grace,  that  age  would  gladly  keep ; 
A  tooth  ot  auburn  lock,  and  by  degrees 
Their  length  and  colour  from  the  locks  they  spare; 
The  olastlck  i^ring  of  an  unwearied  foot,  135 

That  mounts  the  stile  with  ease,  or  leaps  the  fenc« ; 
That  play  of  lungs,  inhaling  and  again  .  ^   » 

Respirijig  freely  the  fresh  air,  that  makes 
Swift  pace  or  steep  ascent  no  toU  to  me, 
Mine  have  not  pilfer'd  yet ;  nor  yet  impur'd  140 

My  relish  of  fair  prospect ;  scenes  that  sooth'd 
Or  charm'd  me  young,  no  longer  young,  I  find 
Still  soothing,  and  of  pow*r  to  charm  me  stilL  . 

And  witness,  dear  companbn  of  my  walks,  ^ 
Whoso  arm  this  ^aoonlifillLwInte;  I  perceive    A     145 
Fast  loek*d  in  mine,  with  pleasure  such  as  16ve,| 
Confirmed  by  long  experience  of  thy  worth      j 
And  well-tiied  virtues,  could  alone  ini^ire—  / 
Witness  a  joy  that  thou  hast  doubled  long.  .^^         *  ^ 

ThoQ  know'st  my  praise  of  nature  most  sineerei    150 
And  that  my  raptures  are  not  conjured  up 
To  serve  occa^ons  of  poetic  pomp. 
But  genulperaiwUMctjMirtner  of  theflMdL 
I  tlow  olTupon  yon  eminence  our  pace 
Has  riaoken'd  to  a  paose,  and  we  have  b(mie  165  ' 

The  mfHing  wind,  scarce  conscious  that  it  Mew, 
While  Adnnration,  £Mding  at  the  eye, 
And  still  unsated,  dwelt  upon  the  scene 
Thence,  with  what  pleasure  Jiave  we  just  diseern*d       ^ 
The  distant  plough  slow  moving,  and  beside  101 

His  laboring  team,  that  swerv'd  not  from  the  track, 
l^he  sturdy  swain  diminished  to  a  boy ! 
Here  Ouse,  riow  winding  through  a  level  plain 


19 


TIIK  TASK. 


01  spacious  meads,  with  cattle  sprinkled  o  n^ 

Conducts  the  eye  Ql<mg  his  sinuous  courae  M 

Delighted.    There,  fast  rooted  in  their  bwikf 

Stand,  never  overlooked,  our  fav'rite  elms, 

That  screen  tlie  heTdsman^s  solitary  hut  $ 

While  far  beyond,  and  overthwart  the  witmm^ 

That,  as  with  molten  giasa,  inlays  the  vsIbi  139 

The  sloping  land  recedes  into  the  cleudi ; 

Displaying  on  its. varied  side  the  grace 

Of  hedge-row  beauties  nmnberiess,  square  tow'fi 

Tall  spire,  from  idiioh  the  sound  of  eheerfnl  Mis 

Ju8(  undulates  ^)on  the  tist^ning  ear,  Iff 

proves^  heaths^  ft^  smoking  vtllageij^reipouA 

Scenes  jnust  \ie  beantifiil,  which  daily^yiew*d~ 

Please  daily,  and  whose  novelty  sorvires 

Long  knowled^  and  the  scmttny  of  years. 

Praise  justly  due  to  those  that  I  describe.  189 

r^or  rural  eigh^  alone,,  but  hiral  so^s^     / 

vExhilan^te  the  spirit,  oad  restore 
T^^  tone  of  languid  NatureJ  Mighty  winds » 

'hat  sweep  the  sKirt  oi  some  fiur^spreading  WAb4 
Of  ancient  growth,  mak^  music  not  nnliks  18S 

The  dash  ei'  Ocean  on  his  winding  shore, 
And  lull  the  t^nrit  while  they  fill  the  mind } 
(Jnnumber'd  branches  waving  in  the  blast, 
And  all  their  leaves  fast  fiutt'ring,  all  at  onoe, 
Nor  less  composure  waits  npon  the  rear  /    190 

Of  distant  floods,  or  on  the  softer  voioe 

^  Of  neighboring  fountain,  or  of  rifls  that  dip 
Through  the  deft  rock,  and  f^^wniffg  as 
Upon  loose  pebbles,  lose  themselves  at 
In  matted  grass,  that  with  a  livelier  ^reoa 
Betrays  the  secret  of  their  silent  course.^ 

laiuce  manmiaie  empii 
But  animated  nature  sweeter  stiS, 
To  sooth  and  satisfy  the  human  ear.  .  ^ 

Ten  thousand  warblers  cheer  the  day,  and  MM       90S 

jThe  livelong  niglit ;  nor  these  alone,  whose  nolM 


rui::  sofa.  \       13 

.   Nicc-fmger'U  Art  must  emulate  in  vain,  \         ^^-^ 

/    Eut  cawing  rooks,  and  kites  that  swim  sublime  \        .  ^ 

/      In  still-repMtted  olrclos,  screaming  loud,  '^      I   *'  -  ^ 

The  jay,  the  pie,  and  e'en  the  boding  owl,  ^Xp 

That  bails  the  rising  moon,  have  charms  for  me,  * 
Sounds  inharmonious  in  themefelves  and  harsh,  I 
Yet  heard  in  scones  where  peace  for  ever  reigns,/ 
And  only, l^erq,  p^qftse  hjgbly  for  Uteir  sslte. 

eace  to  the  artist,  whose  ingenious  thought       210 
Devis'd  the.  weatherhouse,  that  useful  toy  ! 
Fearless  of  humid  air  aod  gathVing  rains. 
Forth  steps  the  man — an  emblem  of  myself ! 
More  delicate  his  tim'rous  mate  retires. 
When  Winter  soaks  the  fields,  and  female  feet,       215 
Too  weak  to  struggle  with  tenacious  clay, 
Or  ford  the-  rivulets,  are  best  at  home. 
The  task  of  new  discoveries  falfs  on  me. 
At  such  a  season,  and  with  such  a  charge. 
Once  went  I  forth ;  and  found,  till  then  unknown,  220  . 
A  cottage,  whither  oft  we  since  repair : 
Tis  perch'd  upon  the  green  hill  top,  but  closo 
£nviron*d  with  a  ring  of  branching  elms, 
That  overhang  the  thatch,  itself  unseen 
Peeps  at  the  vale  below ;  so  thick  beset  225 

With  foliage  of  such  dark  redundant  growth, 
I  caird  the  low-roofd  lodge  the  peasanVt  ne§t. 
And,  hidden  as  it  is,  and  far  remotb 
From  such  unpleaaixig  sounds  as  haunt  the  ear 
In  village  or  in  town,  the  bay  of  curs  230 

Incessant,  clinking  hammers,  grinding  wheels. 
And  infants  clam'roos  whether  pleas'd  or  pai]i*d. 
Oil  have  I  wish'd  the  peaceful  coveret  mine.* 
Here,  I  have  said,  at  least  I  should  possess 
The  poet's  trea8^rey^§^^jgce.  and  indulge  .23R 

The  dreams  of  tancy^  trai^^y^  jjy/][ff'^f;ii^f^j 
TSntliougiit  i  tK  dweller  in  that  still  retreat 
Dearly  obtains  the  refuge  it  afTorda. 
Its  elevated  site  forbids  the  wretch 
Vol.  II.  2 


14  THE  TASK. 

To  drink  sweet  waters  of  the  crystal. well ;  24A 

He  dips  his  bowl  into  the  weedy  ditch, 

And,  heavy  laden,  brings  his  bev'rage  home, 

Far  Yetch'd  an^  little  worth ;  nor  seldcon  waitSi 

Dependent  on  the  baker's  punctual  call. 

To  hear  his  cteaking  panniers  at  the  door,  245 

Angry,  and  sad,  and  his  last  crust  consum  d. 

80  farewell  envy  of  the  peasant's  nest ! 

If  solitude  make  scant  the  means  of  life, 

Society  for  mo  ! — thou  seeming  sweet. 

Be  still  a  pleasing  object  in  my  view ,  850 

My  visit  still,  but  never  mine  abode. 

Not  distant  far,  a  length  of  colpgnade 

Invites  us.    Monument  of  ancient  taste. 

Now  scorned,  but  worthy  of  a  better  fate. 

Our  fathers  knew  the  value  of  a  screen  S56 

From  sultry  suns :  and,  in  their  shaded  walks 

And  long  protracted  bow'rs,  enjoy'd  at  noon 

The  gloom  and  coolness  of  declining  day. 

We  bear  our  shades  about  us ;  self-depriv'd 

\     Of  other  screen,  the  thin  umbrella  spread,  260 

\    And  range  an  Indian  waste  without  a  tree«^  , 

\   Thanks  to  Benevolus* — he  spares  me  yet    t^ 

\  These  chestnuts  rang'd  in  corresponding  lines ; 

\  And,  though  himself  so  polished,  still  reprieves 

I  The  obsolete  prolixity  of  shade.  26f> 

I      Descending  now  (but  cautious,  lest  too  fast) 

,  A  sudden  steep  upon  a  {ggtic^liuQjJggi 

We  pass  a  gulf,  in  which  the  willows  dip 

I  Their  pendent  boughs,  stooping  as  if  to  drink. 

Hence,  ankle  deep  in  moss  and  flow'ry  thyme,       27Q 

I  We  mount  again,  and  feel  at  ev'ry  step 

Our  foot  half  sunk  in  hillocks  green  and  soft. 

Raised  by  the  mole,  the  mmer  of  the  soil.  " 

He,  not  unlike  tlie  great  ones  of  mankind. 

Disfigures  Earth :  and,  plotting  In  thff  dffrk,  275 

*  John  Courtney  Throckmorton,  Em.  of  Weston  Un***^ 
ood. 


t 


^ 


890 


/  THE  SOFA.  15 

I  Toils  mucli  to  earn  ^  monumcnU|  j^i)^ 
Tnat  nisy  accord  the  *"'8ci"cf^  lio  liaTdoiie. 

Me  summ}t  grin'dy  raiold  the^roud  alcove 
That  crowns  it !  yet  not  all  its  ^ride  secures 
The  grand  retreatjrom  injuries  unpress'd  I  280 

Bjr£ural  carvers,  who  wit^l^nlves  deface 
The  panelijl^avmg  an.  obscuTe,  ru5e  name, 
IncJ^acters^uncout^^s^nd^pelt  amiss.       ^^y^x^ 
Sojtrop^tlg  zeal  t'  iniisojiaJixfi^imsclf^ 
Beats  in  the  breast,  of  man,  that  e'en  a  few,    U 
Few  trangieat-jMaM^wor  frimth'  ahym  abhprr'd 
QiLklankjBWucio%g90in  a  glorious  prize,  . 
And  jeveij  to  a  clown.    Now  roves  the  eye  ;         • 
And,  posted  on  this  speculative  height, 
Exults  in  its  command.    The  sheepfold  here 
Pours  out  its  Qeeey  tenants  o'er  the  glebe.  ' 

At  first,  progressive  as  a  stream,  they  seek 
The  middle  field ;  but,  scatter'd  by  degrees, 
Each  to  his  choice,  soon  whiten  all  the  land. 
There  from  the  sunburnt  hayfield  homeward  creeps 
The  loaded  wain  j  while,  lighten'd  of  its  charge,   296 
Tho  wain  thj^t  meets  it  passes  swiftly  by  ; 
The  booriJ|  driver  leaning  o*er  his  team 
Vocif  i-ous^  and  impatient  of  delay. 
Nor  less  attractive  is  tho  woodland  scene,  900 

Diversified  with  trees  of  ev'ry  gro\vth. 
Alike,  yet  various.    Here  the  gray  smooth  trunks 
Of  ash,  or  lime,  or  beech,  distinctly  shine. 
Within  the  twilight  of  their  distant  shades ; 
There,  lost  behind  a  rising  ground,  the  wood  305 

Seems  sunk,  and  shortcn'd  to  its  topmost  boughs.. 
No  tree  in  all  the  grove  but  has  its  charms, 
Though  each  its  liuo  peculiar ;  paler  some, 
And  of  a  wannish  gray;  the  willow  such, 
And  poplar,  that  with  silver  linfes  his  leaf. 
And  ash  far-stretching  his  umbrageous  arm ; 
Of  deeper  green  the  elm  ;  and  deeper  still, 
L?rd  of  the  woods,  tlio  long  surviving  oak 


310 


10  THE  TASK. 

Some  glossy  lcav*d,  and  shining  in  tho  son, 
The  maple  and  the  beech  of  oily  nuts  SIS 

Prolifick,  and  the  lime  at  dewy  ove 
i)iirusing  odours :  nor  unnoted  pass 
The  sycamore,  capricious  in  attire, 
Now  green,  now  tawny,  and,  ere  autumn  yet 
Have  cliang'd  the  woods,  in  scm-Iet  honours  brig;ht. 
O'er  those,  but,  far  beyond  (a  spacious  map'  331 

Of  hill  and  valley  interpos'd  between) 
Tho  Ouso,  dividing  the  well-watcr'd  land, 
Now  glitters  in  the  sun,  and  now  retiroS) 
As  bashful,  yet  impati)ent  to  be  seen.  335 

Hcnoo  the  declivity  is  sharp  and  short, 
And  such  the  reascent ;  between  them  weeps 
A  little  naiad  her  impov'rish'd  urn 
All  summer  long,  which  winter  fills  again. 
The  folded  gates  Would  bar  my  progress  noWy         330 
But  that  the  lord*  of  this  enclos'd  demesne, 
Communicative  of  the  good  he  owns. 
Admits  me  to  a  share ;  the  guiltless  eye._ 
Commits  no  ^VTong,  nor  wastes  what-it  fiinjoyau.^ 
Refreshing  change  !  where  now  the  blazing  sini^   335 
By  short  transition  we  Iiave  lost  his  glare, 
And  stepp'd  at  once  into  a  cooler  clim^. 
Ye  fallen  avenues !  once  more  I  mourn 
Your  fate  unmerited,  once  more  rejoice 
That  yet  a  remnant  of  your  race  survives.  340 

How  airy  and  how  light  the  graceful  arch, 
Yet  awful  as  the  consecrated  roof 
Re-echoing  pious  anthems  !  while  beneath  - 
The  checker 'd  earth  seems  restless  as  a  flood 
Brush'd  by  the  wind     So  sportive  is  the  light        34S 
Shot  thsough  the  boughs,  it  dances  as  they  daiice, 
Shadow  and  sundiine  intermingling  quick, 
And  darkening,  and  enlightening,  as  the  leaves 
Play  wanton,  ev'ry  moment,  cv'ry  spot. 
And  now,  with  nerves  new  brac'd  and  spirits  cheer'd^ 
*  See  the  foregoin*'  note. 


THE  SOFA.  17 

We  tieod  tho  wilderness,  whose  well-roll 'd  Walks,  391 
With  curvature  of  slow  and  easy  sweep — 
Deception  innocent — ^give  ample  space 
To  narrow  bounds.    The  gijiM  receives  us  next ;    ,  ^ 
Between  the  upright  shails  of  whose  tall  elms        353 
We  may  discern  the  thresher  at  his  task. 
Thump  after  thump  resounds  the  constant  fljdl, 
That  scehis  to  swing  uncertain,  and  yet  falls 
Full  on  the  destined  ear.     Wide  flies  the  chafT, 
Tho  rustling  straw  sends  up  a  frequent  mist    y      3d0 
Of  aj^oms,  sparkling-  in  tho  noonday  beam. 
Come  hither,  ye  that  press  your  beds  of  down. 
And  sleep  not  ;  see  him  sweating  o'er  his  bread 
Before  he  eats  it. —  *Tis  the  primal  curse, 
But  softeiFd  into  mercy  ;  made  the  pledge  365 

Of  cheerful  days  and  nights  without  a  groan. 

By  n.ftn«Al^g|y  ftP^pn^  aJl  fhnt  ifl  Riihsifitn.     V 

Constant  rotation ■  of  th*  unwearied  wheol 
That  Nature  rides  upoii;^  maintains  her  health,^ 
Her  beauty,  her  fertility  ^he  dreads  370 

Xn  Instant's  pause,  and  lives  but  while  she  moves : 
Tts  own.  revolvency  lipliolds  the'Worldj 
Winds  from  all  quarters  agitate  the  air, 
And  fit  the  limpid  element  for  use^ 
Else  noxious ;  oceans,  rivers,  lakes,  and  streams,    3f5 
All  feel  the  freshening  impulse,  and  are  cleans'd, 
^*  By  restless  undulation:  e'en  the  oak 

Thrives  by  the  rude  concussion  of  the  storm  ; 
He  seems  indeed  indignant,  and  to  feel 
Th'  impression  of  the  blast  with  proud  disdain,       380 
Frowning,  as  if  in  his  unconscious  arm 
He  held  the  thunder  *  but  the  monarch  owes 
His  firm  stability  to  what  he  scorns,  , 

More  fix'd  below,  the  more  disturb'd  above. 
TJie,  law,  by  which  all  creatures  else  are  bound,      38S 
Bmds  man,  tho  Lord  of  all.    Himself  derives 
I'Jo  mean  advantage  from  a  kindred  cause, 
From  strenuous  toil  liis  hours  of  sweetest  case. 
2» 


m  Till::  TASK. 

The  sedoatAO  stretch  their  lazy  (eno;lh. 

Wlion  Custom  bids,  but  no  rcfrcsiimcnt  fiiid|  390 

For  none  they  need  :  tlie  languid  eye,  the  check 

Deserted  of  its  bloom,  the  flaccid,  shrunk, 

And  wither'd  muscle,  and  the  vapid  Boul, 

Reproach  their  owner  with  tliat  love  of  rest, 

To  which  he  forfeits  e'en  the  rest  he  loves.  306 

Not  such  tlie  alert  and  active.    Measure  ^^ 

By  its  true  worth,  the  comforts  it  affoids^ 

And  theirs  alone  seems  worthy  of  thd  AifcG^< 

Good  health,  and  its  associate  in  the  most, 

Good  temper ;  spirits  prompt  to  undertake,  400 

Arid  not  soon  spent,  though  in  an  arduous  task ; 

The  pow'rs  of  fancy  and  strong  thought  are  theirs ; 

E'en  age  itself  seems  privileg'd  in  them 

With  clear  exemption  from  its  own  defects. 

A  sparkling  eye  beneath  a  wrinkled  front  403 

The  vet'ran  shows,  and,  gracing  a  gray  beard 

With  youthful  smiles,  descends  toward  the  grave 

Sprightly,  and  old  almost  without  decay. 

Like  a  coy  maiden,  Easg.  when  courted  most. 
Furthest  retires — an  idoljat  whose  shrine     •    J    410 
Who  ofl*nest  sacrifice  are  favoured  least. 
The  love  of  Nature,  and  the  scenes  she  draws, 
Is^ture*s  dictate.    Strange  !  there  should  be  found, 
Who,  self-imprison'd  in  tlieir  proud  saloons. 
Renounce  the  odours  of  the  open  field  415 

For  the  unscepted  fictions  of  the  loom ; 
Who,  satisfied  with  only  pencill'd  scenes. 
Prefer  to  the  performance  of  a  God 
Th*  inferiour  wonders  of  an  artist's  hand  1 
Lovely  indeed  ^e  mimick  works  of  Art }  420 

But  Nature's  works  fry  ^ovelier.     I  admire,' 
None  more  admires  tlie  painter's  magick  sliill  \ 
Who  shows  me  that  which  I  shall  never  sco, 
Conveys  a  distant  country  into  mine. 
And  tlirows  Italian  liglit  on  English  walls .  425 

But  imitative  strokes  can  do  no  more 


THE  SOFA.  19 

Tlian  please  the  eje — sweet  Nature's  ev'ry  stnee 

The  air  salubrious  of  her  lofty  hills, 

The  cheering  fragance  of  her  dewy  vales, 

And  musick  of  her  woods — ^no  works  of  man  ^^^     430 

May  rival  these,  these  all  bespeak  a  pow*r 

Peculiar,  and  exclusively  hor  own. 

Beneath  the  open  sky  she  spreads  the  feast , 

Tis  free  to  all — 'lis  ev'ry  day  renew'd ; 

Who  scorns  it  starves  deservedly  at  home.  433 

He  does  not  scorn  it,  who,  imprison'd  long 

In  some  unwholesome  dungeon,  and  a  prey 

To  sallow  sickness,  which  the  vapours,  dank 

And  clammy,  of  his  dark  abode  have  bred, 

Esci^es  at  last  to  liberty  and  light :  ^  440 

His  cheek  recovers  soon  its  healthful  hue ; 

His  eye  relumines  its  eztinguish'd  fires ; 

He  walks,  he  leaps,  he  runs — ^is  wing'd  with  joy. 

And  riots  in  the  sweets  of  ev'ry  breeze. 

He  does  not  scorn  it,  who  has  Jong  endur'd  445 

A  fever's  agonies,  and  fed  on  drugs. 

Sot  yet  the  mariner,  his  blood  inflam'd 

With  acrid  salts ;  his  very  heart  athirst, 

To  gaze  at  Nature  in  h^r  green  array, 

«  Upon  the  ship's  tall  side  he  stands,  pos8e«*d  450 

With  visions  prompted  by  intense  desire  ;  « 

Fair  fields  appear  below,  such  as  he  left 
Far  distant,  such  as  he  would  die  to  find-- 
He  seeks  them  headlong,  and  is  seen  no  moro. 

The  spleen  ^i  seldom  felt  where  Flora  reigns  -,    466 
llie  lowering  eye,  the  petulance,  the  frown. 
And  sullen,  sadness,  that  o'ershade,  distort, 

«An4  mar,  the  face  of  Beauty,  when  no  cause 
For  such  immeasurable  wo  appears, 
These  Flora  banishes,  and  gives  the  fair  460 

Sweet  smiles,  and  bloom  less  transient  than  her  own. 
It  is  the  constant  revolution,  stale 
And  tasteless,  of  the  same  repeated  joys. 
That  jialls  and  satiates,  and  makes  languid  life 


80  T;!'    TASK 

Ajifdlcrs  pack,  that  bow  ;  the  bearer  tlown. 

HcaJlh  suflcrs,  and  the  spirits  i;bb,  the  heart 

Recoils  from  its  own  choice — at  the  full  feast 

Is  famisli'd — finds  no  niusick  in  the  song, 

No  smartness  in  the  jest ;  and  wonders  why. 

Yet  thousands  still  desire  to  journey  on, 

Though  halt,  and  weary  of  the  path  they  tread. 

The  paralytick,  who  can  hold  her  cards, 

But  cannot  play  them,  borrows  a  friend's  hand, 

To  deal  and  shuffle,  to  divide  and  sort 

Her  mingled  suits  and  sequences ;  and  sits, 

Spectatress  both  and  spectacle,  a  sad 

And  silent  cipher,  while  her  proxy  plays. 

Others  are  dragg'd  into  a  crowded  room 

Between  supporters ;  and,  once  seated,  sit, 

Through  downright  inability  to  rise, 

Till  the  stout  bearers  lift  the  corpse  again. 

Tliese  speak  a  loud  memento.    Yet  e'en  these     . 

Themselves  lovo  life,  and  cling  to  it,  as  he       y 

That  overhangs  a  torrent,  to  a  twig. 

They  love  it,  and  yet  loathe  it ;  fear  to  die, 

Yet  scorn  the  purposes  for  which  they  live. 

Then  wherefore  not  renounce  them  ?  No— the  dread. 

The  slavish  dread  of  solitude,  that  breeds 

Reflection  and  remorse,  the  fear  of  shame, 

And  their  invet'rate  habits,  all  forbid.  490 

Whom  call  we  gay  ?  That  honour  has  been  long   ^. 
The  boast  of  mere  pretenders  to  the  name. 
The  innocent  are  gay — ^tho  lark  is  gay, 
Tliat  dries  his  feathers,  saturate  with  dew. 
Beneath  the  rosy  cloud,  while  yet  the  beams 
Of  day  spring  overshoot  his  hunible  nest. 
The  peasant  too,  a  witness  of  his  song. 
Himself  a  songster,  is  as  gay  as  he. 

But  save  roe  from  the  gayety  of  those, 
Whoso  headachs  nail  them  to  a  noonday  bed  ; 
And  save  mo  too  from  theirs,  whose  haggard  eyes 
Flash  dOsperalion,  and  betray  their  panirs 


4U5 


470 


475 


480 


485 


495 


500 


THE  SOFA.  21 

For  property  Btripp'd  off  by  cruel  chance ; 
From  gayety,  that  fills  the  bones  with  pain, 
The  mouth  with  blasphemy,  the  heart  with  wo.      SOS 

The  earth  was  made  so  various,  that  the  mind 
Of  desultory  man,  studious  of  change, 
And  pleas'd  with  novelty,  might  be  indulg'd.  l/^ 
Prospects,  however  lovely,  may  be  seen 
Till  half  their  beauties  fade  :  the  weary  sight         MO 
Too  well  acquainted  with  their  smiles,  ^des  oll( 
Fastidious,  seeking  less  familiar  scenes. 
Then  snug  enclosures  in  th^  shelter*d  vale^- 
Where  frequent  hedges  intercept  the  eye, 
Delight  us ;  happy  to  renounce  awhile,  515 

Not  senseless  of  its  charms,  what  still  we  love, 
That  such  diort  absence  may  endear,  it  more. 
Then  forests,  or  the  savage  rock,  may  pteaAe, 
That  hides  the  sea-mew  'm  his  hollow  clefts 
Above  the  reach  of  man.    His  heary  head,  520 

Ck)nspicuous  many  a  league,  the  mariner 
Bound  homeward,  and  in  hope  already  there. 
Greets  with  three  cheers  exulting.    At  his  waist 
A  girdle  of  half-wither'd  shrubs  he  shows, 
And  at  Ids  feet  the  baffled  billows  die.  "^  62S 

Tho  common,  overgrown  with  fern,  and  roiig& 
With  prickly  gorse,  that,  shapeless  and  deform'd,     * 
And  dangerous  to  the  touch,  has  yet  its  bloom, 
And  decks  itself  with  ornaments  of  gold. 
Yields  no  unpleashig  ramble  ;  there  tlio  turf  530 

Smells  fresh,  and,  rich  in  odorirrous  herbs 
And  fungous  fruits  of  earth,  regales  the  sense 
With  luxury  of  unexpected  sweets. 

There  often  wanders  gfl^,  whom  better  days 
Saw  bettor  clad,  in  cloak  of  satin  trimmed  635 

Willi  lace,  and  hat  with  splendid  riband  bound, 
A  serving  maid  was  she,  and  fell  in  love 
With  one  who  left  her,  went  to  sea,  and  died. 
Her  fancy  follow'd  him  tlurough  foaming  wayee 
To  distant  shores ;  and  she  would  sit  and  weep       5^ 


/ 


22  Till::  TA.Si;. 

Al  wnat  a  sailor  bailors  ;  iancy  loo, 

Delusive  uiost  where  warmest  wishes  are, 

Would  oft  anticipato  his  glad  return, 

And  droam  of  transports  she  was  not  to  know. 

She  heard  the  doleful  tidings  of  his  death —  545 

And  never  smird  again  !  and  now  she  roams       / 

The  dreary  waste  ;  there  spends  tlie  livelong  day, 

And  there,  unless  when  charity  forbids, 

The  Uvslong  night.    A  tatter'd  apron  hides^ 

Worn  as  a  cloak,  and  hardly  hides,  a  gown  550 

More  tatter'd  still ;  and  both  but  ill  conceal 

A  bosom  heav'd  with  never-ceasing  sighs. 

She  begs  an  idle  pui  of  all  she  meets, 

And  hoards  them  in  her  sleeve ;  but  needful  food,  554 

Though  preqp'd  with  hunger  oil,  or  comeiier  clothes, 

Thoi^h  pinch'd  with  cold,  asks  never.— -Kate  js  crai'd. ' 

I  see  a  column  of  slow  rising  smoke 
O'ertop  the  lofly  wood,  tliat  skirts  the  wild. 
A  vagabond  and  useless  tribe  there  eat 
Their  miserable  meal.    A  kettle,  slung  500 

Between  two  poles  upon  a  stick  transverse. 
Receives  the  morsel — ^flesh  obscene  of  dog. 
Or  vermin,  or  at  best  of  cock  purloined 
From  his  accustom'd  perch.    Hard  faring  race ! 
Tliey  pick  their  fuel  out  of  ev*ry  hedge,  5C5 

Which,  kindled  with  dry  leaves,  just  saves  unquonch*d 
The  spark  of  life.    The  sportive  wind  blows  wide 
Their  fluttering  rags,  and  shows  a  tawny  skin, 
The  vellum  of  the  pedigree  they  claim. 
Great  skill  have  they  in  palmistry,  and  more  570 

To  conjure  clean  away  the  gold  they  toucli. 
Conveying  worthless  dross  into  its  place ; 
Loud  when  they  beg,  dumb  only  when  they  steal 
^trange !  that  a  creature  rational,  and  cost 
In  human  mould,  should  brutalize  by  choice   v/     596 
His  nature  ;  and,  though  capable  of  arts, 
By  which  the  world  might  profit,  and  himself 
Belf-banish'd  from  socioty,  prefer 


THE  SOFA.  23 

Suchjigualid  sloth  to  honourable^il ! 
TOfeven  tTiesoJTlRmgSTeigiiing  sickness  oft  580 

They  swathe  the  forehead,  drag  the  limping  limb, 
And  vex  their  flesh  with  artificial  sores, 
Can  change  their  whine  into  a  mirthful  note, 
When  tfafe  occasion  offers ;  and  with  dance, 
And  musick  of  the  bladder  and  the  bag,  GSS 

Beguile  their  woes,  and  make  the  woods  resound. 
Such  health  and  gayety  of  heart  enjoy         *^^' 
The  houseless  rovers  of  the  sylvan  world  ; 
And,  breathing  wholesome  air,  and  wand'ring  much. 
Need  other  physick  none  to  heal  tli'  effects  590 

Of  loathsome  diet,  penury,  and  cold. 

Blest  he,  though  undistinguished -from  tlic  crowd 
By  wealth  or  dignity,  who  dwells  secure,'*^        ^ 
Where  man  by  nature  fierce,  has  laid  aside 
His  fierceness,  having  learnt,  though  slow  to  Icam, 
The  manners  and  the  arts  of  civil  life.  506 

His  wants  indeed  are  many ;  but  supply 
Is  obvious,  plac'd  within  the  easy  reach 
Of  tcmp'rate  wishes  and  industrious  hands. 
Here  virtue  thrives  as  in  her  proper  soil ;  600 

Not  rude  and  siu-ly,  and  beset  with  thorns. 
And  terrible  to  sight,  as  when  she  springs, 
(If  e'er  she  spring  spontaneous,)  in  remote 
And  barb 'reus  climes,  where  violence  prevails, 
And  strength  is  lord  of  all  ;  but  gentle,  kind,  605 

By  culture  tam'd,  by  liberty  refresh'd. 
And  all  her  fruits  by  radiant  truth  matur'd. 
War  and  the  chase  engross  the  savage  whole ; 
War  foUow'd  for  revenge  or  to  supplant 
The  envied  tenants  of  some  happier  spot :  610 

The  chase  for  sustenance,  precarious  trust 
Ilia  hard  condition  with  severe  constraint 
Binds  all  his  faculties,  forbids  all  growth 
Of  wisdom,  proves  a  school,  in  wliich  he  loariis 
Sly  circumvention,  unrelenting  hate,  61b 

Mean  self-attacbmcnt,  and  scarce  aught  besid« 


24  THE  TASK. 

Thus  fare  the  shiv'ring  natives  of  the  north, 

And  thus  the  rangers  of  the  western  world, 

Where  it  advances  far  into  tlie  deep, 

Tow'rds  the  antorctick.    E'en  the  favour'd  isles     626 

So  lately  found,  although^he  constant  sun  .  • 

Cheer  all  their  seasons  with  a  grateful  smile. 

Can  hoast  hut  little  virtue ;  and  inert 

Through  plenty,  lose  in  morals  what  they  gain 

In  manners — ^victims  of  luxurious  ease.  ^  .  625 

These  therefore  I  can  pity,  plac'd  remote   - 

From  all  that  science  traces^  art  invents, 

Or  inspiration  teaches ;  and  enclosed 

In  boundless  oceans  never  to  be  passed 

Hy  navigators  unmform'd  a»  they,  630 

Or  plough'd  perhaps  by  British  bark  again . 

But  far  beyond  the  rest,  and  with  most  cause, 

Thee,  gentle  savage  !*  whom  no  love  of  thee 

Or  thine,  but  curiosity  perhaps, 

Or  else  vain  glory,  prompted  us  to  draw  C35 

Fortli  from  thy  native  bow'rs,  to  show  thee  hor« 

With  what  superiour  skill  we  can  abuse 

The  gifts  of  Providence,  and  squander  life. 

The  dream  is  past ;  and  thou  hast  found  again 

Thy  cocoas  and  bananas,  palms  and  yams,  C4C 

And  homesUii  thatch *d  with  leaves.    But  liast  thou 

found 
Their  former  charms  ?  And,  having  seen  our  statOi 
Our  palaces,  our  ladies,  and  our  pomp 
Of  equipage,  our  gardens,  and  our  sports. 
And  heard  our  musick ;  are  thy  simple  friendr,       644 
Thy  simple  fare,  and  all  thy  plain  delights, 
As  dear  to  thoc  as  once  ?  And  have  thy  joys 
Lost  nothing  by  comparison  with  ours  ? 
Rude  as  thou  art,  (for  we  returned  tliee  rude 
And  ignorant,  except  of  outward  show,)  660 

I  cannot  think  thee  yet  so  dull  of  heart 
And  spiritless,  as  never  to  regret 
•  Omai. 


THE  SOFA.  « 

Sweets  tailed  here,  and  left  as  soon  as  knowa. 
Metliinks  I  see  thee  straying  on  the  beach, 
And  asking  of  the  surge,  that  bathes  thy-  foot,        666 
If  ever  it  has  wash'd  our  distant  shore. 
I  see  thee  weep,  and  thine  are  honest  tears, 
A  patriot's  ibr  his  country :  thou  art  sad 
At  thought  of  her  forlorn  and  abject  state. 
From  which  no  pow'r  of  thine  can  raise  hor  up.     COO 
Thus  fancy  paints  thee,  and,  though  apt  to  err. 
Perhaps  errs  little,  Vhen  she  paints  thee  thus. 
She  tells  me  too,  that  duly  ey'ry  mom 
Thou  climb'st  t^e  mountain  top,  with  eager  eye 
Exploring. far  and  wide  the  wat'ry  waste  CG5 

For  sight  of  ship  from  England.    Ev'ry  speck 
Seen  in  the  dim  horizon  turns  thee  pale 
With  conflict  of  contending  hopes  and  fears. 
But  comes  at  last  the  dull  and  dusky  eve. 
And  sends  thee  to  thy  cabin,  well  prepared  C70 

To  dream  all  night  of  what  the  day  denied. 
Alas !  expect  it  not.    We  found  no  bait 
To  tempt  us  in  thy  country.    Doing  good, 
Disinterested  good,  is  not  our  tf&de. 
We  travel  far,  His  trueibjjljiQt  for  aougjiti  675 

Knd  must  be  Bril)^  to  compass  Ear  til  again 
By  mother  hopes  and  richer  fruits  than  yours. 

But  though  true_  worth  and  xlrtuo^inthe  piilj 
And  genial  soil  of  cultivated  Ji|^ 
58^^^*Mu?SOK£fl^iwM  llirivc  only  thcMff  C80 
Yyiot  in  cities  ofl:  in  proud,  and  gay, 
ijaiit  jnin-ieYoied  cities.    Thftlier  flow. 
As  to  a  common  an3  most  noisome  sewer, 
TEo^egs  and  feculence  of  every  land. 
.  In  cities,  foul  example  on  most  minds 


fij^ttieSj  vice  Fslnd^en  with  most  ease, 

Or  seen  with  least  reproach  ;  and  virtue,  taught    COO 

'  Vol.  II.      ♦  13 


2C  THE  TASK. 

Bj  frequent  lapse,  can  hope  no  triumph  there 

Beyond  th*  achievement  of  successful  flight. 

I  do  confess  them  nurseries  of  the  arts, 

In  which  they  flourish  most ;  where  in  the  beams 

Of  warm  encouragement,  and  m  the  eye  <SKi 

Of  p*jblick  note,  they  reach  tlieir  perfect  size. 

Such  London  is,  by  taste  and  wealth  proclaimed 

The  fairest  capital  of  all  the  world, 

By  riot  and  incontinence  the  worst. 

There  touched  by  Reynolds,  a  dull  blank  becomoi  700 

A  lucid  mirror,  in  which  Nature  sees 

All  her  reflected  features.    Bacon  theve 

Gives  more  than  female  beauty  to  a  stone, 

And  Chatham*8  eloquence  to  marble  lips. 

Nor  does  the  chisel  occupy  alone  70S 

The  powers  of  sculpture,  but  the  style  as  much ; 

Each  province  of  her  art  her  equal  care. 

With  nice  incision  o£  her  gruided  steel . 

Shfi^fdnflg^ff  a.  hrazen  field,  and  clothes  a  soil 

So  sterile  with  what  charms  soe'er  jfee  w^,  710 

The  richest  scenery  and  theloveliest  forms. 

Where  finds  Philosophy  her  eagle  eye. 

With  which  she  gazes  at  yon  burning  disk 

Undazzlod,  and  detects  and  counts  his  spots  ? 

In  London.    Wliere  her  implements  exact,  T15 

With  which  she  calculates,  computes,  and  scans. 

All  distance,  motion,  magnitude,  and  now 

Measures  an  atom,  and  now  girds  a  world  ••  • 

In  London.    Where  has  commerce  such  a  mart, 

So  rich,  so  throngM,  so  drtdn'd,  and  so  suppfiedi     720 

As  London — opulent,  enlarged,  and  still 

Increasing  London  '  Babylon  of  old 

Not  more  the  glory  of  the  Earth,  than  she, 

A  more  accomplished  world's  chief  glory  now. 

She  has  her  praise.    Now  mark  a  spot  or  twO;    735 
That  so  much  beauty  would  do  well  to  purge  ; 
And  show  this  quocn  of  cities,  that  so  fair. 
May  yet  bo  foul ;  so  witty,  yet  not  wise 


THE  SOFA.  «7 

(t  is  not  soemly,  nor  of  good  report,  '^v 

That  she  is  slack  in  discipline  }  more  prompt  TM 

T*  avenge  than  to  prevent  the  breach  of  law  : 
That  she  is  rigid  in  denouncing  death 
On  peity  roobers,  ana  indp'j^es  Hie, 
And  YHbetty;  ana  oHfimcs  hongur^^, 
T&  peculators  of  flie  puWic^^flU  •'  735 

That  thieves  at  home  must  ^""J )  frflt  llff  l^^*^  f"fti 
Into  his  overgorg^d  and  bloated  puiflp 
The  wealth  of  Indmn  provinces^  escapes, 
lior  is  it  welly  nor  can  it  come  to  good, 
That,  through  profane  and  infidel  contempt  740 

Of  holj  writ,  she  has  presum'd  t'  annul 
And  abrogate,  as  roundly  as  she  may. 
The  total  ordinance  and  will  of  God ; 
Advancing  Fashion  to  the  post  of  Truth, 
And  centring  all  authority  in  modes  745 

And  customs  of  her  own,  till  sabbath  rites 
Have  dwindled  into/mrespected  forms, 
And  knees  and  hassocks  are  well-nigh  divorced. 

God  made  the  country,  and  man  rjp'^*  *Vn  tnv*  / 
What  wondetJBen  that  aealth  and  virtue,  gjfia    '^TbO 
Tharijafl  fllonie  ffiSEesweet  the  j?lfter  draught 
That  life  holds  out  to  all,  should  most  abound 
Knd  least  be  threatened  in  the  fields  and  groves  ? 
Possess  ye,  therefbri^ye  whoi^ Borne  about 
In  chariots  and  sedans,  know  no  fatigue       /  765 

But  that  of  idleness,  and  taste  no  scenes  V 
But  such  as  art  contrives,  possess  ye  still 
Your  element,  there  only  can  ye  shine  ; 
There  only  minds  hke  yours  can  do  no  harm. 
Our  groves  were  planted  to  console  at  noon  760 

The  pensive  wand'rer  in  their  shades.    At  eve 
The  moon-beam,  sUding  softly  in  between 
The  sleeping  leaves,  is  all  the  light  they  wish, 
Birds  warbKng  all  the  musick.    We  can  spare 
The  splendour  of  your  lamps ;  they  but  eclipse       765 
Oyr  softer  satellite.    Your  songs  confound 


9»  THE  TASK. 

Our  more  harmonious  notes :  the  thrnsh  departs 

Scar'di  and  ih*  offended  mghtin^le  is  muto. 

There  is  a  poblick  mischief  in  your  mirth ; 

It  piajjrues  you**  coontry.    Folly  such  as  yourSi       770 

Graced  with  a  sword,  and*worthier  of  a  foQ, 

Uas  made,  what  enemies  could  ne'er  have  donei 

Our  arch  of  empire,  steadfast  but  ^or  jo^f 

A^motilated  stniciare  soon  to  hSL    ' 


THE  TASK^ 


THE  TIME-PIECE. 


ABGUMENT  OF  THE  SECOND  BOOK. 

]v,x  Roflectiona  laggested  by  the  conclusion  of  the  former  book— Poaoe 
aroon;  the  oationi  recomniended  on  the  i^xowMhof  their  eommod  * 

V  -  feilovshiv  in  -eorrow— Prodigies  •  emimerated— Sicilian  -  eartli- 

vv'  quftKes— Man  reiidered-«biM«aiii_la  theea  reliwitiee  Itjr  fio— 

God^the  agent  tnljieiEi— The  philosophy  that  stops  at  feeondary 
eausM  WprotM^^^ur  own  late  miscarriagea  aeeoanted  for — 
Satirical  notice  taken  of  onr  trips  to  Fontainblea1^VB1lt  the 

rrad  Advertiser  of  engraved  sermons— Fetit^roaitre  parson^->The 
good  preacher — ^Picture  of  a  theatrical  clerical  coxccNnb— 8tory> 
teltartjind  jartera  in  tb^  palpii  leuimed  Apostr<yhe  to  malar 
applause — ^Retailers  of  ancient  philosophy  expostulated  with— 
Sum  af  the  whole  matter — Effects  of  sacerdotal  mismana^ment 
on  the  lait^Their  folly  and  extravagance— The  misehieft  of 
profusioa-*-Profn8ion  itself,  with  all  its  conse<}uent  evils,  ascribed, 
as  to  iu  principal  cause,  to  the  want  of  dieeipUae  in  the  onivier- 
•it&sa. 


O  FOR  a  lodge  in  some  vast  wlldornoss^ 
Some  botmdlesfl  contiguity  of  shade. 
Where  romour  of  oppression  and  deceit, 
Cy  qnspcce^ulor  successful  war, 
B^ht  neveFreacS^me  more,!  My  ear  is  pain*d, 
My  soul  is  sick  with  ev'ry  d&ys  report 
Of  wrong  and  outrage  with  which  earth  b  fill'd. 
There  is  no  flesh  in  man's  obdurate"  heart ; 
It  does  not  feel  for  man ;  the  natural  bond 
Of  brotherliood  is  scver'd,  as  the  flax, 
3* 


10 


:«!  Tii;:TASK. , 

That  falls  asunder  at  tlu'  touch  of  6re. 
Ho  findgjiis  fellow  guilty  of  a  skin   . 
Not  colour'd  like  his  own ;  and  having  pow'r 
T*  enibrco  t^o  wron^  lor  such  a  worthy  cauae 
Dooms  and  devotes  hin\  as  a  lawful  prey.  1^ 

Lands  intersected  by  a  narrow  frith 
Abhor  each  other.    Mountains  interposed 
Make  enemies  of  nations,  who  had  else 
Isike  kindred  drops  been  mingled  into  one. 
Thus  man  devotes  his  brother,  and  destroys ;  20 

And  worse  than  all,  and  most  to  bo  dcplor'd, 
As  human  nature's  broadest,  foulest  blot,  • 

Chains  him,  and  tasks  liirrT,  and  oxactslus  swe^t 
With  stripes,  that  Mercy  with  a  bleeding  l.jari, 
Weeps  when  she  sees  inflicted  on  a  beast.  23 

Then  what  is  man  ?  And  what  man,  seeing  this, 
And  having  human  feelings,  does  not  bltish, 
And  hang  his  head,  to  think  himself  a  man  ? 
I  would  not  have  a  slave  to  till  my  ground, 
To  carry  me,  to  fkn  me  while  I  sleep,  30 

And  tremble  when  I  wake,  for  all  the  wedtli 
That  sinews  bought  and  sold  hs^ve  ever  varnH] 
No  t  dear  as  freedom  is,  and  in  my  hoards 
Justji5J|infttion  priz'd  above  all  price,  * 
L  had  much  rather  be  mysoU"  the  slave,  35 

And  wear  the  bonds,  tlian  fasten  them  on  him. 
We  have  no  slaves  at  liome.— Then  why  abroad  ? 
And  they  tliemselves,  once  ferried  o*er  the  wave 
That  parts  us,  are  emancipate  and  loos'd. 
Slaves  cannot  breathe  in  England ;  if  their  lungs    40 
Receive  our  air,  that  moment  they  ore  free ; 
They  touch  our  country,  and  their  shackles  fall. 
That's  noble,  and  bespeaks  a  nation  proud 
And  jealous  of  the  blessing.    Spread  it,  then, 
And  let  it  circulate  through  ev*ry  vein  45 

Of  all  your  empire :  that,  where  Britain's  pow'r 
Is  felt,  mankind  may  feel  her  mercy  too.* 
^     Sure  there  is  need  of  _Bocigl  intercourse, 


THE  TIME-PIECE.  3.. 

BeiioTolence,  and  peace,  and  mutual  aid, 
Between  the  nations,  in  a  world  that  ■eoms  GO 

To  toll  the  death4)ell  of  its  own  aecoaso. 
And  by  the  voice  of  all  its  elements 
To  preach  the  gen'ral  doom.*    When  were  the  winda 
Let  slip  ^ith  such  a  warrant  to  destroy  ? 
When  did  the  waves  so  haughtily  overleap  66 

Their  ancient  barriers,  deluging  the  dry  ? 
•Fires  from  beneath,  and  meteorst  from  abore. 
Portentous,  unexampled,  unexplained, 
Have  kindled  beacons  in  the  skies ;  .and  th'  6id 
And  crazy  Earth  has  had  her  shaking  fits  60 

l^lore  frequent\  and  foregone  her  usual  rest, 
b  it  a  time  to  wrangle,  when  the  props 
^nd  pillars  of  our  planet  seem  to*fail, 
Knd  Nature  with  a  dim  and  sickly  eyet 
To  wait  the  close  of  all  ?  But  grant  her  end  05 

^ore  distant,  and  that  prophecy  demands 
k  longer  respite,  imaccomplish'd  yet ; 
£tiU  they  are  frowning  signals,  and  bespeak 
Displeasure  in  his  breast  who  smites  the  Eaftli 
Or  heals  it,  makes  it  languish  or  rejoice.  fO 

And  'tis  but  seemly,  that,  where  all  deserve 
And  stand  expos'd  by  common  peccancy 
To  what  no  few  have  felt,  there  should  be  pettMi 
And  brethren  in  calamity  should  love. 
Alas  for  Siciiy !  rude  fragmenis  now  S5 

"  Lie  scattered,  where  the  shapely  columns  steed.     • 
Her  palaces  are  dust.    In  all  her  streets 
The  voice  of  singing  and  the  sprightly  chord 
Are  silcst.    Revelry,  and  dance,  and  show. 
Suffer  a  syncope\nd  solemn  pause  ;  W 

While  God  performs  upon  the  trembling  stage 
Of  his  own  works  his  dreadful  part  alone. 
How  does  the  earth  receive  him  ?  with  what  rigm 

*  Alluding  to  the  calamitiea  in  Jamaica, 
t  Augost,  18, 1783. 

i  Alluding  to  the  fog  that  covered  both  Europe  and  Ami 
during  the  whole  summer  of  1783. 


32  THE  TASK. 

Of  gratulation  and  delight  her  kin^  ? 

Pours  she  not  all  her  choicest  fruits  abroad,  86 

Her  sweetest  flow'rs,  her  aroraatick  gums, 

Disclosing  Paradise  where'er  he  treads  ? 

She  quakes  at  his  approach.     Her  hollow  womb, 

Conceiving  thunders,  through  a  thousand  de9ps 

And  fiery  caverns  roars  beneath  his  foot.  90 

The  hills  move  lightly,  and  the  mountains  smoke, 

For  he  has  touch'd  them.    From  th'  cztreniest  point 

or  elevation  down  into  the  abyss 

His  wrath  is  bu^,  and  his  frown  is  felt. 

The  rocks  fall  headlong,  and  the  valleys  rise,  95 

The  rivers' die  into  offcnsivo  pools. 

And,  chargM  with  putrid  verdure,  breathe  a  gross 

And  mortal  nuisance  into  all  the  air. 

What  solid  was,  by  transformation  strange. 

Grows  fluid  ;  and  the  fix'd  and  rooted  earth,  100 

Tomiented  into  billows,  heaves  and  swells. 

Or  with  Tortiginous  and  hideous  v^irl 

Sacks  down  its.  prey  msatiable.    Immense 

The'  tumidt  and  the  overthrow,  the  pangs 

And  agonies  of  human  and  of  brute  106 

Multitudes,  fugitive  on  ev'ry  side. 

And  fugitive  in  vain.    The  sylvan  scene 

Migrates  uplifted :  and,  with  all  its  so^ 

Alightmg  in  far  distant  fields,  fin^s  out 

A  new  possessor,  and  survives  the  change.  110 

0<;ean  lias  caught  the  frenzy,  and,  upwrought 

To  an  enormous  and  overbearing  height. 

Not  by  a  mighty  wind,  but  by  that  voice 

Which  winds  and  waves  obey,  invades  the  sf^re 

Resistless.    Never  such  a  sudden  flood,  115 

Upridg'd  so  high,  and  sent  on  such  a  charge, 

Possess'd  an  inland  scene.    Where  now  the  throng 

That  pretend  the  beach,  and,  hasty  to  depart. 

Looked  to  the  sea  for  safety  ?  They  are  gone, 

Gone  with  the  refluent  wave  into  the  deep—  121 

A  prince  with  half  his  people »  Ancient  tow'rs, 


THE  TIME-PIECE.  38 

And  roofs  embattled  high,  the  gloomy  scones 
Where  beauty  oft  and  lettered  worth  consume 
Life  in  ther  unproductive  shades  of  deatli, 
Fall  prone  :  the  pale  inhabit^ts  come  fortbi  ISft 

And,  happy  in  their  unforeseen  release 
From  all  the  rigours  of  restraint,  enjoy 
The  terrours  of  the  day  that  sets  them  free. 
Who,  then,  that  has  thee,  would  not  hold  thee  fiat 
Freedom  !  whom  they  that  lose  thee  so  regret,       130 
That  e*en  a  judgment,  making  way  for  thee, 
Seems  in  their  eyes  a  mercy  for  thy  sake  f 
Such  evil  Sin  hath  wrought ;  and  such  a  flame 
Kindled  in  Heav'n,  that  it  burns  down  to  Earth, 
And  in  the  furious  inquest  that  it  makes  136 

On  God's  behalf,  lays  waste  his  fairest  works. 
The  very  elements,  though  each  be  meant         ^ 
The  minister  of  man,  to  serve  his  wants,  '{ 

Conspire  against  him.    With  his  breath  he  draws 
A  plague  intahis  blood  ;  and  cannot  use  140 

Life's  necessary  means,  but  he  must  die. 
Storms  rise  t'  overwhelm  him  ;  or  if  stormy  winds 
Rise  not,  the  waters  of  the  deep  shall  rise. 
And,  needing  none  assistance  of  the  storm, 
Shall  roll  themselyes  ashore,  and  reach  him  there.  145 
The  earth  shall  shake  him  out  of  all  his  holds, 
Or  make  his  house  his  grave :  qor  so  content^  . 
Shall  counterfeit  the  motions  of  the  flood. 
And  drown  him  in  her  dry  and  dusty  gulfs. 
Wimt  then ! — ^were  they  the  wicked  above  all,        ISO 
And  we  the  righteous,  whose  fast-anohor'd  isle 
Mov'd  not,  while  theirs  was  rock'd,  like  a  light  skiff, 
The  sport  of  every  wave  ?  No ;  none  are  clear, 
And  none  than  we  more  guilty.    But,  where  afl 
Stand  chargeable  with  guilt,  and  to  the  diafts         IBS 
Of  wrath  obnoxious,  God  may  choose  hie  aiark  i 
May  punish,  if  he  please,  the  less,  to  warn 
The  more  malignant.    If  he  spar'd  not  \' 


34  ^  THE  TASK. 

Treniblo  and  he  amaz'd  at  tliine  escape,    • 
Far  ffuiltier  En^landj^  lest  he  spare  not  Iheo  .  100 

'liajipy  ihc  man,  who  sees  a  God  employed 
In  all  tlie  good  and  ill  that  checker  life  I 
Resolving  all  events,  with  their  effects 
And  manifold  results,  into  the  will 
And  arbitration  wise  of  the  Supreme.  105 

Did  not  his  eye  rule  all  things,  cmd  intend 
The  least  of  our  concerns  ;  (since  from  the  least 
The  greatest  ofl  originate  ;)  could  chance 
Find  place  in  his  dominion,  or  dispose 
One  lawless  particle  to  thwart  his  plan ;.  170 

Then  God  might  be  surprised,  and  unforeseen 
Contlngcnce  might  alarm  him,  and  disturb 
The  smooth  and  equal  course  of  his  affairs. 
This  trutli  Philosophy,  tliough  eagle-ey'd 
In  nature's  tendencies,  od  overlooks ;  175 

And,  having  found  his  instrument,  forgets. 
Or  disregards^  or,  more  presumptuous  still, 
Ponies  the  power  that  wields  it.    God  proclaimt 
His  hot  cjispleasuro  against  foolish  men, 
That  live  an  atlieist  life  ;  involves  the  Heavens      189 
In  tempests ;  quits  his  grasp  i^pon  the  winds, 
And  gives  them  all  their  fury ',  bids  a  plague 
Kindle  a  fiery  bile  upon  the  skin. 
And  ^>utrcfy  tlie  breath  of  blooming  Health. 
Ho  calls  for  Famine,  and  the  meagre  fiend  185 

Jilows  mildew  from  botvveen  his  shrivell'd  lips, 
And  taints  the  golden  ear.    He  sprhigs  his  miiiot| 
And  desobtes  a  nation  at  a  blast.- 
Forth  steps  the  spruce  Philosopher,  and  tolls 
Of  homogeneal  and  discordant  springs,  -     '  190 

And  principles ;  of  causes  how  they  work 
By  necessary  laws  tlieir  sure  effects 
Of  action  and  reaction  :  he  has  found 
The  source  of  the  disease  that  nature  feeJi, 
And  bids  the  world  take  heart  and  banish  &ar.       1^5 


THK  TfMK-PlKCK.  35 

Thou  fool  ?  will- thy  disqov'rj'  of  the  cause 
Suspend  th*  eifect,  or  heal  it  ?  Has  not  God 
Still  wrought  by  means  since  first  he  made  tlio  world 
And  did  he  not  of  old  employ  his  means 
To  drown  it  ?  What  is  his  creation  less,  200 

Than  a  capacious  reservoir  of  means, 
Form*^d  for  his  use,  and  ready  at  his  will  ? 
Go,  dress  thine  eyes  with  eye -salve  ;  ask  of  Him, 
Or  ask  of  whomsoever  he  has  taught.; 
And  learn,  though  late,  the  genuine  cause  of  all.    205 

£nghuid^witlLAll  thy  faults,  I  love  thee  still — 
My  comitiy4  and,  while- yet^a^took-isJeft^ 
Where  English  minds  and  manners  may  be  found, 
Shall  bfr  c«fiSirtiih*d  to^Tove  thee.    Though  thy  clime 
Be  fickfe,  and  thy  year  most  part  dcform'd  210 

With  dripping  rains,  or  withered  by  a  frost, 
I  would  not  yet  exchange  thy  sullen  skfes. 
And  fields  without  a  flow*r,  for  warmer  France 
With  all  her  vines :  nor  for  Ausonia's  groves 
Of  golden  fruitage,  and  her  myrtle  bow*rs.  215 

To  shake  thy  senate,  and  from  heights  subUmo 
Of  patrkyt  eloquence  to  flash  down  fire 
Upon  thy  foes,  was  never  meant  my  task : 
But  I  can  feel  thy  fortunes,  and  partake 
Thy  joys  and  sorrows,  with  as  true  a  heart  220 

As  any  thund'rer  there.    And  I  can  feel 
Thy  follies  too ;  and  with  a  just  disdain 
Frown  at  effeminates,  whose  very  looks 
Reflect  dishonour  on  the  land  I  love. 
How  in  the  name  of  soldiership  and  sense,  225 

Should  England  prosper,  when  such  things,  as  smooth 
And  tender  as  a  girl,  ail  essenc*d  o*er 
With  odours,  and  as  profligate  as  sweet ; 
Who  sell  their  laurel  for  a  m3rrtle  wreath, 
And  love  when  tliey  Aould  fight  :  when  such  an  those 
Presume  to  lay  their  hand  upon  the  ark  2:Jl 

Of  her  magnificent  and  awful  cause  ^ 
Time  was  when  it  wa»  nraise  and  boast  enough 


3G  THE  TASK. 

In  every  clime,  and  travel  where  we  might, 

That  wo  were  born  her  children.    Praiao  enovgh  235 

To  fill  th'  ambition  of  a  private  man 

That  Chatham's  language  was  his  mother-tongne, 

And  Wolfe's  great  name  compatriot  with  his  own. 

Farewell  those  honours,  and  farewell  with  them 

The  hope  of  such  hereafler  !  Thej  have  lairs        240 

Each  in  his  field  of  glory  ;  one  in  arms, 

And  one  m  council — ^Wolfe  upon  the  lap 

Of  smiling  Victory  that  moment  won, 

And  Chatham  heart-sick  of  his  country's  riiaine ! 

They  made  us  many  soldiers.    Chatham,  Mill         24S 

Consulting  England's  happiness  at  home, 

Secured  it  by  an  unforgiving  frown. 

If  any  wrong'd  her.    Wolfe,  where'er  he  fou^^ 

Put  so  much  of  his  heart  into  his  act, 

That  his  example  had  a  magnet's  force,  S30 

And  all  were  swift  to  follow  whom  all  lov'd^ 

Those  suns  are  set.     O  rise  some  other  sueh*? 

Or  all  that  we  liave  left  is  empty  talk 

Of  old  achievements  and  despair  of  new. 

Now  hoist  the  sail,  and  let  the  streamers  floai     255 
Upon  the  wanton  breezes.    Strew  the  deck 
With  lavender,  and  sprinkle  liquid  Bweet9» 
That  no  rude  savour  maritime  invade 
The  nose  of  r^ice  nobility  !  Breathe  soft, 
Ye  clarionets  ;  and  softer  still,  ye  flutes ;  260 

Tiiat  winds  and  waters,  lull'd  by  magick  soufiif, 
May  bear  us  smoothly  to  the  Gallic  shore. 
True,  we  have  lost  an  empire — ^let  it  pass* 
True,  we  may  thank  the  perfidy  of  Fraacd, 
That  pick'd  the  jewel  out  of  England's  crewn^      ^HSi 
With  all  the  cmming  of  an  envious  shrew* 
And  let  that  pass — 'twas  but  a  trick  o£  stat^^ 
A  brave  man  knows  no  malice,  biit  at  once 
Aorgets  in  peace  the  injuries  of  war. 
And  gives  his  direst  foe  a  friend's  embrace.  270 

And  sham'd  as  wo  have  been,  to  th'  very  hetird     . 


THE  TIME-PIECE.  97  }] 

•Brav  d  and  defied,  and  in  our  own  sea  prov'd  " 
Too  weak  for  those  decisive  blows  that  once 
Ensur'd  us  mast'ry  there,  we  yet  retain  1 

Some  small  pre-eminence  ;/we  justly  boast  27S 

At  least  superiour  jockeyship,  and  claim 

The  honours  of  the  turf  as  all  our  own  !  [                  '  ' 

Go,  then,  well  worthy  of  the  praise  ye  seek,  I ! 

And  show  the  shame  ye  might  conceal  at  home,  < 

In  foreign  eyes ' — be  grooms  and  win  the  plate,      290  I 

Whore  once  your  nobler  fathers  won  a  crown  * —  i  j 

Tis  gcn'raus  to  communicate  your  skill  [j 

To  those  that  need  it.    Folly  is  soon  learned :          J 
And  under  such  pi;ecRptora  who  can  fail  ?  T^fW. 

There  is  a  pleasure  in  poetick  pains,  Tfeeb 

Wliich  only  poets  know.    The  shifts  and  turns, 
Th'  expedients  and  inventions  multiform, 
To  which  the  mind  resorts,  in  chase  of  to^mB, 
Though  apt,  yet  coy,  and  difficqlt  to  win — 
T'  arrest  the  fleeting  images,  that  fill  200 

The  mirror  of  the  mind,  and  hold  them  fast, 
And  force  them  sit,  till  he  has  pencil'd  o^T 
A  faithful  likeness  of  the  forms  he  views ; 
Then  to  dispose  his  copies  with  such  art. 
That  each  may  find  its  most  propitious  light,  3% 

And  shine  by  situation,  hardly  less 
Than  by  the  labour  and  the  skill  it  cost ; 
Are  occupations  of  the  poet's  mind 
So  pleading,  and  that  gteal  away^the  thought, 
With  such  address  from  themes  of  sad  import,        300 
That,  lost  in  his  own  musings,  happy  man ! 
He  feels  the  anxieties  of  life  denied 
Their  wonted  entertainment ;  all  retire. 
Such  joys  has  he  that  sings.    But  ah !  not  such, 
Or  seldom  such,  the  hearers  of  his  song.  30$ 

Fastidious,  or  else  listless,  or  perhaps 
Aware  of  nothing  arduous  in  a  task 
They  never  undertook,  they  little  note 
His  dangers  or  escapes,  and  haply  find 

Vol.  U  4 


38  THE  TASK. 

Their  least  amusement  where  he  found  the  moit    310 

But  ii  amusement  all  ?  Studious  of  song, 

And  yet  ambitious  not  to  sing  in  vain, 

I  would  not  trifle  merely,  tliough  the  world 

Be  loudest  in  their  praise  who  do  no  more. 

Yet  what  can  satire,  whether  grave  or  gay  ?      ^    315 

It  may  correct  a  foible,  may  chastise 

Tlie  freaks  of  fashion,  regulate  the  dross, 

Retrench  a  sword-blade,  or  displace  a  patch ; 

But  where  jire  its  sublimer  trophies  found  ? 

What  vice  has  it  subdued  ?  whose  heart  reclaim*d  390 

By  rigour,  or  whom  laugh'd  into  reform? 

Alas !  Leviathan  is  not  so  tam'd : 

LaughM  at,  he  laughs  ag^in ;  and  stricken  hard, 

Turns  to  the  stroke  his  adamantine  scales. 

That  fear  no  discipline  of  human  hands.  325 

The  pulpily  therefore — (and  I  name  it  fill'd 
With  solemn  awe,  that  bids  me  well  beware 
With  what  intent  I  touch  that  holy  thing) — 
The  pulpit — (when  the  satirist  has  at  last. 
Strutting  and  vaporing  in  an  empty  school,  330 

Spent  all  his  force,  and  made  no  proselyte)-^ 
I  say  the  pulpit  (in  the  sober  use 
Of  its  legitimate  peculiar  pow'rs) 
Must  stand  acknowledged,  while  the  \irorld  shall  stand. 
The  most  important  and  efiectual  guard,  835 

Support,  and  ornament,  of  Virtue's  cause. 
There  stands  the  mefsenger  of  truth ;  there  stands 
The  legate  of  the  skies ! — His  theme  divine, 
His  office  sacred,  his  credentials  clear. 
By  him  the  violated  law  speaks  out  340 

Its  thunders :  and  by  him,  in  strains  as  sweet  * 
As  angels  use,  the  Gospel  whispers  peace. 
He  Establishes  the  strong,  restores  the  weak, 
Reclaims  the  wand'rer,  binds  the  broken  heart. 
And,  arm'd  himself  In  panoply  complete  345 

Of  heav*nly  temper,  furnishes  with  arms 
Bright  as  his  own,  and  trains,  by  every  rule 


THE  TIME-PIECE.  39 

Of  holy  discipline,  to  glorious  war 
The  sacramental  host  of  God's  elect :  ^         3^ 

Are  all  such  teachers  ? — ^would  to  Heav'n  all  were ! 
Bat  hark— the  doctor's  voice  ! — fast  wed^*d  between 
Two  empiricks  he  stands,  and  with  swoln  cheeks 
Inspires  the  news,  his  trumpet.     Keener  far 
Than  all  mvective  is  his  bold  harangue, 
While  through  that  publick  organ  of  report  SH 

He  hails  the  clergy  ;  and,  defying  shame, 
Announces  to  the  world  his  own  and  theirs  ! 
He  teaches  those  to  read  whom  schools  difmini'd, 
And  colleges,  untaught :  sells  accent,  tone. 
And  emphasis  in  score,  and  giyes  to  pray'r  360 

Th'  adagio  and  andante  it  demands. 
He  grinds  divinity  of  other  days 
Down  into  modern  use ;  transforms  old  prlni 
To  zigzag  manuscript,  and  cheats  the  eyes 
Of  gall'ry  critics  by  a  thousand  arts.  366 

Are  thMre  ^o  purchase  of  the  doctor's  ware  ? 
O,  name  it  not  in  Gath ! — it  cannot  be, 
That  grave  kmd  learned  clerks  should  need  saeh  aid. 
He  doubtless  is  in  sport,  and  does  but  droll. 
Assuming  thus  a  rank  unknown  before—  370 

Grand  caterer  and  dry-nurse  of  the  choKh ! 
I  venerate  the  man,  whose  heart  is  warm, 
Whose  hands  are  pure,  whose  doctrine  and  whesd  liSbp 
Coincident,  exhibit  lucid  proof 
That  he  is  honest  in  the  sacred  cause.  876 

To  such  [  render  more  than  mete  respect, 
Whose  actions  say  that  they  respect  themselves. 
But  loose  in  morahi  and  in  manners  vain. 
In  conversation  frivolous,  in  dress 
Extreme  at  once  rapacious  and  profuse ;  380 

Frequent  in  park  with  lady  at  his  side. 
Ambling  and  prattling  scandal  as  he  goes; 
But  rare  at  home,  and  never  at  his  books. 
Or  with  his  pen,  savo  when  he  scrawls  a  card ; 
Constant  at  routs,  familiar  with  a  round  385 


^^ 


4U  THV:  TASK 

Of  ladyships,  a  stranger  to  the  poor  j 

Ajnbiti(fas  of  profermcnL  for  its  gold, 

And  well  prcpar'd,  by  ignorance  and  sloth, 

By  infidelity  and  love  of  world, 

To  make,  God's  work  a  sinecure  ;  a  slave  390 

To  his  own  pleasures  and  his  patron's  pride } 

From  such  apostles,  O  ye  mitred  heads^ 

Preserve  the  church  Pan  J  lay  not  careless  jiancls 

On  skulfstTiat  cannot  teach,  and' will  notleam. 

Would  r^escriKe  a*  preacher,  sucB  as  Faul,         395 
Were  he  on  Earth,  would  hear,  approve,  and  owiiy 
Paul  should  himself  direct  mo.    I  would  trace 
His  master-strokes,  and  draw  from  his  design. 
I  wouM  express  him  simple,  grave,  sincere ; 
In  doctrine  unoorrupt ;  in  language  plain,  400 

And  plain  in  manner  ;  decent,  solenm,  chaste, 
And  natural  In  gesture  ;  much  impressed 
Himself,  as  conscious  of  his  awful  charge^ 
And  anxious  mainly  that  the  flock  he  feeds 
May  ieel  it  too  ;  affectionate  in  look,       •  406 

And  tender  in  address,  as  well  becomes 
A  messenger  of  grace  to  guilty  men.  ^ 

Behold  the  picture  ! — Is  it  like  ? — Like  whom  ?  \ 
The  things  that  mount  the  rostrum  with  a  skip,   \ 
And  then  skip  down  again ;  pronounce  a  text  i      )4I0 
Cry — ^hem ;  and,  reading  what  they  never  wrote  / 
Just  fifl^eu  minutes,  huddle  up  their  work,  / 

And  with  a  well-bred  whisper  close  the  scene !  j 

In  man  or  woman,  but  far  most  in  man, 
And  most  of  all  in  man  that  ministers  416 

And  serves  the  altar,  in  my  soul  I  loathe 
All  affectation.    'Tis  my  perfect  scorn ', 
Object  of  my  implacable  disgust. 
What ! — will  a  man  play  tricks — will  he  indulge 
A  silly  fond  conceit  of  his  fair  form,  430 

And  just  proportion,  fashionable  mien. 
And  pretty  face,  in  presence  of  his  God  ? 
Or  will  he  seek  to  dazzle  me  with  ticpes. 


THE  TIME-PIECE.  41 

As  with  the  diamond  on  his  Hlj  hand, 
And  phiy  his  brilliant  parts  before  my  eyes,  425 

When  I  am  hungry  for  the  bread  of  life  ? 
He  mocks  his  Maker,  prostitutes  and  shames 
His  nobfe  office,  and,  instead  of  truth, 
Displaying  his  ovm  beauty,  starves  hb  flock. 
Therefore  avaunt  all  attitude  and  stare,  430 

And  start  theatrick,  practis'd  at  the  glass ! 
I  seek  divine  simplicity  in  him 
Who  handles  things  divine ;  and  all  besides, 
Though  leam'd  with  labour,  and  though  much  admir'd 
By  carious  eyes  and  judgments  ill-inform'd,  435 

To  me  is  odious  as  the  nasal  twang 
Heard  at  conventicle  where  worthy  men, 
Misled  by  custom,  strain  celestial  themes 
Through  the  press'd  nostril,  spcctacle-bestrid. 
Some,  decent  in  demeanour  while  they  preach|      440 
That  task  performed,  relapse  into  themselves ; 
And,  having  spoken  wisely,  at  the  close 
Grow  wanton,  and  give  proof  to  ev'ry  eye. 
Whoe'er  was  edify 'd,  themselves  were  not ! 
Forth  comes  the  pockef-mirror.    First  we  stroke    445 
An  eyebrow ;  next  compose  a  straggling  lock , 
Then  with  an  air  most  gracefully  perform'd| 
Fall  back  into  our  seat,  extend  an  arm, 
And  lay  it  at  its  ease  with  gentle  care. 
With  handkerchief  in  hand  depending  low  ;  450 

The  better  hand  more  busy  gives  the  nose 
Its  bergamot,  or  aids  th'  indebted  eye 
With  op'ra  glass,  to  watch  the  moving  scene, 
And  recognise  the  slow  retiring  fair. — 
Now  this  is  fulsome ;  and  ofibnds  me  more  455 

Than  in  a  churchman  slovenly  neglect 
And  rustic  coarseness  would.    A  heavenly  mkud 
May  be  indiff^nt  to  her  house  of  day, 
And  slight  the  hovel  as  beneath  her  eare ; 
Bat  how  a  body  so  fimtastic,  trim,  460 

4» 


42  m^'  TASK. 

And  quaint,  in  its  deportuient  ami  attire, 

Can  lodge  a  heav'nly  mind — demands  a  doubt. 

He  tkal  negotiates  between  Grod  and  man, 
As  God's  ambassador^  the  grand  concerns 
Of  judgment  and  of  mercy,  should  beware  465 

Of  lightness  in  his  ^eoch.  .  *Tia  pitiful 
To  court  a  grin,  when  you  should  woo  a  »otd : 
To  break  a  jest,  when  pity  would  inspire 
Pathetick  exhortation  ;  and  t'  address 
The  skittish  fkncy  with  facetiotts  tales,  470 

When  sent  with  God's  commission  to  tins  Itetat  I 
So  did  not  Paul.    Direct  me  to  a  quip 
Or  merry  turn  in  all  he  erer  wrote. 
And  I  consent  you  take  it  for  your  text, 
Tour  only  one,  till  sides  and  benches  fail.  475 

Ifo :  he  was  serious  in  a  serioua  cause. 
And  understood  too  well  the  weighty  terms, 
That  he  had  ta'en  in  charge.    He  wavAd  notftofap   ' 
To  conquer  those  by  jocular  exploitsj 
Whom  truth  and  soberness  asdail'd  in  vain.  f80 

O  Popular  Applause  !  wlnft  heart  of  mas 
Is  proof  against  thy  Bweet  seducing  charms? 
The  wisest  and  the  best  feel  urgent  need 
Of  .all  their  cautien  in  thy  gentlest  gates-; 
But  swell'd  into  a  gust — who,  then,  alas !  485 

With  all  his  tanvass  set,  and  inexpert. 
And  therefore  heedless,  can  withstand  thy  |iO(w^  ? 
Praise  from  the  riv^'d  lips  of  toothless,  bcdd 
Decrepitude,  and  in  the  lobks  <^  lean 
And  craving  Poverty,  and  in  the  how  490 

Respectful  of  the  smutch'd  artificer. 
Is  oft  too  welcome  and  may  much  distnfb 
The  bias  of  the  purpose.    How  much  more, 
Pour'd  forth  by  beauty  splendid  and  poIit», 
In  language  soft  as  Adoration  breathes  ?  495 

Ah,  spare  your  idol,  think  him  Ituman  still* 
Charms  he  may  have,  but  ho  has  frailties  too ! 
Dote  not  too  much  nor  spoil  what  ye  admire.  ^ 


■.=Ji 


THE  TIME;P1ECE.  43 

All  truth  is  from  the  sempiternal  source 
Of  light  divine.    But  Egypt,  Greece,  and  Rome,  600 
Drew  from  the  stream  below.    More  favour'di  we 
Drink  when  we  choose  it,  at  the  fountain  head. 
To  them  it  flow'd  much  mingled  and  defil'd 
With  hurtful  errour,  prejudice,  and  dreams 
Illu^ve  of  philosophy,  so  caU'd>  G05 

But  fiilsely..    Sages  after  sages  strove 
In  vain  to  filter  off  a  crystal  draught 
Pure  from  the  lees,  which  often  more  enhanced 
The  thirst  than  slak'd  it,  and  not  seldom  bred 
Intoxication  and  delirium  wild.  510 

In  vain  they  push'd  inquiry  to  the  birth 
And  spring-time  of  the  world ',  ask'd,  Whence  is  man  ' 
Why  form'd  at  all  ^  and  wherefore  as  he  is  ? 
Where  must  he  find  his  maker  ?  with  what  ritei 
Adore  him  ?  Will  he  hear,  accept,  and  bless  ?  515 

Or  does  he  sit  regardless  of  his  works.'* 
Has  man  within  him  an  immortal  seed  ? 
Or  does  the  tomb  take  all  ?  If  he  survive 
His  ashes,  where  ?  and  in  what  weal  or  wo  ? 
Knots  worthy  of  solution,  which  ijone  5S0 

A  Deity  could  solve.    Their  answers,  vague 
And  all  at  random,  fabulous  and  dark, 
Left  them  as  dark  themselves.    Their  rulee  of  li£i 
Defective  and  unsanctioned,  prov'd  too  weak 
To  bind  the  roving  appetite,  and  lead  605 

Blind  nature  to  a  God  not  yet  revcal'd. 
Tis  Revelation  satisfies  all  doubts. 
Explains  all  mysteries,  except  her  own. 
And  so  illuminates  tlie  path  of  life 
That  fools  discover  it,  and  stray  no  more.  530 

Now  tell  me,  dignified  and  sapient  sir. 
My  man  of  morals,  nurtured  in  the  shades 
Of  Academus — ^is  this  false  or  true  ? 
is  Christ  the  abler  teacher  or  the  schools 
If  Christ,  then  why  resort  at  ev'ry  turn  55B 

To  Athens,  or  to  Rome,  for  wisdom  shore 


44  THE  TASK.   ' 

Of  mui*8  occasions,  when  in  him  reside 

Grace,  knowledge,  comfort — an  unfathom*d  store  f 

How  ofl,  when  Paul  has  serv'd  us  with  a  text, 

Has  Epictetus,  Plato,  Tully,  preached !  54Q 

Men  that,  if  now  alive,  would  sit  content 

And  humble  learners  of  a  Saviour's  worth, 

Preach  it  who  might.     Such  was  their  love  of  truUi,    . 

Their  thirst  of  knowledge,  and  their  candour  loo. 

And  thus  it  is. — ^Tho  pastor,  either  vain  541 

By  nature,  or  by  fiatt'ry  made  so,  taught 
To  gaze  at  his  own  splendour,  and  t*  exalt 
Absurdly,  not  his  office,  but  himself; 
Or  unenHghton'd  and  too  proud  to  learn ; 
Or  vicious,  and  not  therefore  apt  to  teach ;  560 

Perverting  oflcn  by  the  stress  of  lewd 
And  loose  example,  whom  he  should  instruct ; 
Exposes,  and  holds  up  to  broad  disgrace, 
The  noblest  ftinction,  and  discredits  much 
The  brightest  truths  that  man  has  ever  scon.  555 

For  ghostly  counsel ;  if  it  either  fall 
Below  tho  exigence,  or  be  not  back'd 
With  riiow  of  love,  at  least  with  hopeful  proof 
Of  some  sincerity  on  the-  giver's  part ; 
Or  be  dishonour'd  in  th'  exteriour  form  560 

And  mode  of  its  conveyance,  by  such  trickf 
As  move  derision,  or  by  foppish  airs 
And  histrionick  mumm*ry  that  let  down 
The  pulpit  to  the  level  of  the  stage  ; 
Drops  from  the  lips  a  disregarded  thing.  56S 

The  weak  perhaps  are  mov'd,  but  are  not  taught 
While  prejudice  in  men  of  stronger  minds 
Takes  deeper  root,  confirmed  by  what  they  see. 
A  relaxation  of  religion's  hold 

Upon  the  roving  and  untutor'd  he^rt  57U 

Soon  follows,  and,  the  curb  of  conscience  snapp'd 
The  laity  run  wild.    But  do  they  now  ? 
Note  their  extravagance,  and  be  convinced- 

As  nations,  ignorant  of  God,  contrivo 


THE  TIME-PIECE.  45 

A  wooden  one  :  so  we,  no  longer  taught  575 

By  monitors,  that  mother  church  supplies, 
Now  make  our  own.    Posterity  will  ask, 
(If  o'er  posterity  see  verse  of  mine,)      * 
Some  fifty  or  a  hundred  lustrums  hence, 
What  wa§  a  monitor  in  George's  days  ?  580 

My  very  gentle  reader,  yet  unborn. 
Of  whom  I  needs  must  augur  better  things, 
Since  Heav'n  would  sure  grow  weary  of  a  world 
Productive  only  of  a  race  like  ours, 
A  monitor  is  wood — plank  shaven  thin.  585 

We  w'car  it  at  our  backs.     There,  closely  brac'd 
And  neatly  fitted,  it  compresses  hard 
The  prominent  and  most  unsightly  bones, 
And  binds  the  shoulder  flat.    We  prove  its  use 
Sov'roign  and  most  cflectual  to  secure  590 

A  form,  not  now  gymnastick  as  of  yore, 
From  rickets,  and  distortion,  else  our  lot. 
But  thus  admonish'd,  we  can  walk  erect — 
One  proof  at  least  of  manhood  1  wliile  the  friend 
Sticks  close,  a  Mentor  worthy  of  his  charge.  595 

Our  habits,  costlier  than  Lucullus  wore, 
And  by  caprice  as  multiplied  as  his, 
Just  please  us  while  the  fashion  is  at  full, 
But  change  with  ev'ry  moon.    The  sycophanti 
Who  waits  to  dress  us,  arbitrates  tlicir  date  ;  COO 

Surveys  his  fair  reversion  with  keen  eye  ; 
Finds  one  ill  made,  another  obsolete, 
This  fits  not  nicely,  that  is  ill  conceiv'd ; 
And,  maklng'prize  of  all  that  ho  condemns, 
With  our  expenditure  defrays  his  own.  605  • 

ATariety's  the  very  spice  of  \\f^,\  « 

That  gives  it  ajl  its  flavour.     We  have  run 
Through  ev'ry  change,  that  Fancy  at  llie  loom* 
Exliaiisted,  has  had  genius  to  supply  ;    • 
And  studious  of  mutation  still,  discard  CIO 

.A  real  elegance,  a  little  us'd, 
For  monstrous  novelty  and  strange  disguise 


46  THE  TASK. 

Wo  sacrifice  to  dress,  till  household  joys 

And  comforts  cease.     Dress  drains  our  cellar  drji 

And  k«0ps  our  larder  lean ;  puts  out  our  fires;        615 

And  introduces  hunger,  frost,  and  wo, 

Where  peace  and  hospitality  might  reign. 

What  man  tliat  lives,  and  that  knows  how  to  live, 

Would  fail  t'  exhibit  at  the  publick  shows 

A  form  fts  splendid  as  the  proudest  there,  620 

Though  appetite  raise  outcries  at  the  cost  ? 

A  man  o*  th'  town  dines  late,  but  soon  enough, 

With  reasonable  forecast  and  despatch, 

T'  ensure  a  side-box  station  at  half  price. 

You.  think,  perhaps,  so  delicate  his  dress,  C25 

His  daily  fare  as  delicate.     Alas ! 

He  picks  clean  teeth,  and,  busy  as  he  seems 

With  an  old  tavern  quill,  is  hungry  yet ! 

The  rout  is  Folly's  circle,  which  she  draws 

With  magick  wand.    So  potent  is  the  spell,  630 

That  none,  decoyM  into  that  fatal  ring, 

Unless  by  Heav*n's  peculiar  grace,  escape. 

There  we  grow  early  gray,  but  never  wise; 

There  form  connexions^  but  accjuufi  ^  tftf B^ » 

Solicit  pleasure  hopeless  of  success ;  -  635 

Waste  youth  in  occupations  only  fit 

For  second  childhood,  and  devote  old  age 

To  sports,  which  only  childhood  coul^cxcuse. 

There,  they  are  happiest  who  dissemble  t>est 

Their  weariness ;  and  they  the  most  polite  C4d , 

Who  squander  time  and  treasure  with  a  smile, 

Though  at  tlieir  own  destruction.     She  that  asks 

He**  dear  five  hundred  friends,  contemns  them  all, 

And  hates  their  coming.    They  (what  can  they  loss  f) 

Make  just  reprisals ;  and  with  cringe  and  shrug,    648 

And  bow  obsequious,  hide  their  hate  of  her. 

All  catch  the/renzy,  downward  from  her  grace, 

Whose  flambeaux  flash  against  the  morning  skies, 

And  gild  our  chamber  ceilings  as  they  pass. 

To  her,  who,  frugal  only  that  her  thrift  650 


THE  TIME-PI KCE.  f9 

May  f*ed  excesses  she  caa  ill  atford, 
is  hacknejr'd  home  unlackey'd  ;  wlio,  in  haste 
Alighting,  turns  the  key  in  her  own  door, 
And,  at  the  watchman's  lantern  borrowiiig  light, 
Finds  a  cold  hed  her  only  comfort  left.  655 

Wives  beggar  husbands,  husbands  starve  their  wives, 
On  Fortune's  velvet  altar  ofTring  up 
Tlieir  last  poor  pittance — Fortune,  most  severe 
Of  goddesses  yet  known,  and  costlier  far 
Than  all  that  held  their  routs  in  Juno's  Heav'n. —  660 
So  fare  we  in  tlyp  pfi^n-house^  the  World : 
And  *ti8  a  fearful  spectacle  to  see 
Bo  many  maniacks  dancing  in  their  chains. 
They  gaze  upon  the  links,  that  hold  them  fast, 
With  eyes  of  anguish,  execrate  their  lot,  665 

Then  shake  them  in  despair,  and  dance  again  * 

Now  basket  up  the  family  of  plagues, 
That  waste  our  vitals ;  peculation,  sale 
Of  honour,  perjury,  corruption,  frauds 
By  forgery,  by  subterfuge  of  law,  '  670 

By  tricks  and  lies  as  numerous  and  as  keen 
As  tl)e  necessities  their  authors  feel : 
Then  cast  them,  closely  bundled,  ev'ry  brat 
At  the  right  door.    Profusion  is  the  sire. 
Profusion  unrcstrain'dj^  with  alllhat's  basc^  675 

in  character,  has  litter'd  all  the  land. 
And  bred,  within  the  mern'ry  oi*  no  iew, 
A  priesthood,  such  as  Baal's  was  of  old, 
\  peopld,  siich  as  never  was  till  now. 
U  is  a  hungry  vice  : — it  eats  up  all  660 

That  gives  society  its  beauty,  strength, 
Convenience,  security,  and  use : 
.Hakes  men  mere  vermin,  worthy  to  bo  trapped 
4lnd  gibbeted,  as  fast  as  catchpole  claws 
Can  seize  the  slippery  prey  :  unties  tho  knot  685 

Of  union,  and  converts  tlie  sacred  band 
That  holds  mankind  together,  to  a  scourge. 
Profusion  deluging  a  state  with  lu^w  / 


43  THK  TASK. 

Of  groesost  nature  and  of  worst  effects, 

Prepares  it  for  its  ruin  :  hardens,  blinds,  6U^ 

And  warps,  the  consciences  of  publick  men, 

Till  they  can  laugh  at  Virtue ;  mock  the  fool* 

That  trust  them  ;  and  in  th'  end  disclose  a  fac^, 

That  would  have  shock'd  Credulity  herself. 

Unmask'd,  vouchsafing  this  their  sole  excuse —       C95 

Since  all  ahke  are  selfish,  why  not  they  ? 

This  does  Profusion,  and  th'  accursed  cause 

Of  such  deep  mischief  has  itself  a  cause. 

In  coHeges  and  halls  in  ancient  days, 
When  learning,  virtue,  piety,  and  truths  700 

Were  precious  and  inculcated  with  care, 
There  dwelt  a  sage  call'd  pigciplipfl.    His  head. 
Not  yet  by  time  completely  silver'd  o*er. 
Bespoke  him  past  the  bounds  of  freakish  youth^ 
But  strong  for  service  still,  and  unimpair'd.  705 

His  eye  was  meek  and  gentle,  and  a  smile  - 
Play*d  on  his  lips ;  and  in  his  speech  was  hear4 
Paternal  sweetness,  dignity,  and  love 
The  occupation  dearest  to  his  heart 
Was  to  encourage  goodness.    IJe  would  stroke      710 
The  head  of  modest  and  ingenious  worth, 
That  blush'd  at  his  own  praise :  and  press  t|ie  youth 
Close  t6  hie  side  that  pleas'd  him.     Learning  grew 
Beneath  his  care,  a  thriving  vig'rous  plant ; 
The  mind  was  well  informed,  the  passions  held,       715 
Subordinate,  and  diligence  was^clipice. 
If  e'er  it  chancM,  as  sometimes  chance  it  must. 
That  one  among  so  many  overleaped 
The  limits  of  control,  his  gentle  eye 
Grew  stem,  and  darted  a  severe  rebuke ;  720 

His  frown  was  full  of  terrour,  and  his  voice 
Shook  the  delinquent  with  such  fits  of  avkro, 
As  loft  him  not,  till  penitence  had  won 
Lost  favour  back  again,  and  clos'd  the  breach. 
But  Discipline,  a  faithful  servant  long,  725 

Declined  at  length  into  t-lio  vale  of  years  • 


'      THE  TIMEPIECE  49 

A  palsy  struck  his  arm  ;  his  sparklingr  oye 
Was  quenched  in  rheums  of  aje  ;  his  Yoice,  unsinuig* 
Grew  tremulous,  and  mov'd  derision  more 
Than  rev'rence,  in  perverse  rebellious  jouth.  73tt 

So  colleges  and  halls  neglected  much 
Their  good  old  friend ;  and  Discipline  at  lengthy 
^^'erlook*d  and  unemployed,  fell  sick  and  died. 
Then  Study  languished,  Emulation  slept. 
And  Virtue  fled.    The  schonla  became  a  scene       7% 
Of  jBolemn  ferce.  where  Igncu^uice  in  stilts, 
His  cap  well  lin'd  yrith  logick  not  his  own, 
With  parrot  tongue  perform'd  the  scholar's  part, 
Proceeding  soon  a  graduated  dunce. 
Then  compromise  had  place,  and  scrutiny  740 

Became  stone  blind  ;  precedence  went  in  trucK, 
And  he  was  cspVipetent  whose  pur^e  was  so. 
A  ^ssolution  of  all  bonds  ensued ; 
The  curbs  invented  for  the  mulish  mouth 
Of  headstrong  youth  were  broken ',  bars  and  bolts  745 
Grew  rusty  by  disuse  ;  and  massy  gates 
Forgot  their  office,  op'ning  with  a  touch ; 
Till  gowns  at  length,  are  found  mere  masquerade, 
The  tassel'd  cap  and  the  spruce  band  a  jest, 
A  mock'ry  of  the  world !  What  need  of  these  750 

For  gamerters,  jockeys,  brothelers  impure, 
Spendthrifts,  and  booted  sportsmen,  ofl'ner  seen 
With  belted  waist  and  pointers  at  their  heels. 
Than  in  the  bounds  of  duty  '  What  was  learn'd, 
If  aught  was  leam'd  in  childhood,  is^orgot  *  750 

And  soch  expense,  as  pineries  parents  blue, 
And  mortifies  the  liberal  hand  of  love. 
Is  sqiundor/d  in  pursuit  of  idle  sports 
A.nd  vicious  pleasures ;  buys  the  boy  a  name 
That  sits  a  stigma  on  hiF  fkther's  house,     '  760 

And  cleaves  through  life  inseparably  close 
To  him  that  wears  it.    What  can  after  games 
Of  riper  joys,  and  commerce  with  the  world, 
Vol.  II.  5 


iSSSi 


50  THE  TASK. 

Tho  lewd  vain  worlcj,  that  must  receive  him  soon. 

Add  to  such  erudition,  thus  acquired,  76S 

Where  science  and  where  virtue  are  professed  ? 

They  may  confirm  his  habits,  rivet  fast 

His  foUy,  but  to  spoil  him  is  a  task 

That  bids  defiance  to  th'  united  powers 

Of  fashion,  dissipation,  taverns,  stews.  770 

Now  blame  we  most  the  nurselings  or  tho  jomsj}/ 

The  children  crook'd,  and  twisted,  and  deformed, 

Through  want  of  care ;  or  her,  whose  winkmg  eye 

And  slumb'ring  oscitancy  mars  the  j^rood  ? 

The  nurse,  no  doubt.    Regardless  of  her  chargei   775 

She  needs  herself  correction  ;  needs  to  learn 

That  it  is  dang'rous  sporting  with  the  world, 

With  things  so  sacred  as  a  nation's  trust. 

The  nurture  of  her  youth,  her  dearest  pledge. 

All  are  not  such.    I  had  a  brother  once —  780 

Peace  to  the  memory  of  a  man  of  worth, 
A  man  of  letters,  and  of  manners  too  ! 
Of  manners  sweet  as  Virtue  always  wears, 
When  gay  good-natured  dresses  her  in  smiles. 
He  grac'd  a  college,*  in  which  order  yet  785 

Was  sacred  ;  and  was  honour'd,  lov'd,  and  wept 
By  more  than  one,  themselves  conspicuous  there. 
Borne  minds  are  tempered  happily,  and  mix*d 
With  such  ingredients  of  good  sense,  and  taste 
Of  what  is  excellent  in  man,  they  thirst  790 

With  such  a  zeal  to  be  what  they  approve, 
That  ho  restraints  can  circumscribe  them  more 
Than  they  themselves  by  choice,  for  wisdom's  soke. 
Nor  can  example  hurt  them ;  what  they  see 
Of  vice  ir  others  but  enhancing  more  79S 

The  charms  of  virtue  in  their  just  esteem. 
If  such  escape  contagion,  and  emerge 
Pure  from  so  foul  a  pool  to  shine  abroad, 
And  give  the  world  their  talents  and  thomselvee 
Bene'lCoU  Cambridge. 


THE  TIME-PIECE.  51 

Small  tliank«  to  those  whose  negligence  or  sloth    3Q0 
ExpQsM  their  Inexperience  to  the  snare, 
And  lefl  them  to  an  undirected  choice. 

See  then  the  guJTQr  broken  and  decay 'd, 
In  which  are  kept  our  arrows  !  Rusting  there 
In  wild  disorder,  and  unUt  for  use,  805 

What  wonder,  if  discharged  into  the  world,  *• 

They  shame  their'shooters  with  a  random  flight, 
Their  points  obtuse,  and  feathers  drunk  with  wine ! 
Well  may  the  church  wage  unsuccessful  war 
With  such  artill'ry  arm'd.     Vice  parries  wide         810 
Th*  undreaded  volley  with  a  sword  of  straw^ 
And  stands  an  impudent  and  fearless  mark. 
Have  we  not  track'd  the  felon  home,  and  found 
(^,iiM  His  birthplace  and  his  dam  ?  The  country  mourns, 

Mourns  because  ev'ry  plague  that  can  infest  815 

Society,  and  that  saps  and  worms  the  base 

Of  tl^  ediiice  that  policy  has  rais'd, 

•Swarms  In  all  quarters :  meets  the  eye,  the  ear, 

And  suffocates  the  breath  at  ev'ry  turn. 

Profusion  breeds  Uiem ;  and  the  cause  it&elf  820 

Of  that  calamitous  mischief  has  been  found : 

Found,  too,  where  most  otfensive,  in  the  skirts 

Of  tlie  rob'd  pedagogue !  "Else  let  th'  arraign 'd 

Stand  up  unconscious,  and  refute  the  charge. 

So  when  the  Jewish  leader  stretched  his  arm,         8S5 

And  wav'd  his  rod  divine,  a  race  obscene. 

Spawned  in  the  muddy  beds  of  Nile,  came  forth, 

Polluting  Egypt :  gardens,  fields,  and  plains. 

Were  covered  with  the  pest ;  the  streets  were  fiird ; 

The  croaking  nuisance  lurk'd  in  ev'ry  nook  ;  83C 

Nor  palaces,  nor  even  chambers,  'Ecap'd ; 

4nd  the  land  stank--so  num'rous  was  the  &y. 


THE  TASK. 


THE  GARDEN. 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  THIRD  BCiOK. 

Self-recollectlon,  and  leproof— Addresi  to  domettiek  happineat^ 
Somo  account  of  mytelf— The  vanity  of  many  of  their  pur8uit% 
who  are  reputed  wise — Justification  of  my  censures — ^Divine  if* 
lumination  necessary  to  the  most  expert  philosopher. — Theqaef> 
tion,  What  ii  truth  {  answered  by  other  nuostiona— Doihestick 
happiness  addressed  again — Few  lb^rer8  of  tne  eouiitry< — My  tame 
hare— Occupations  of  a  retired  centleman  in  his  ffarden— Prnmag 
— Framin9--Groenhou80— Sowing  of  flower  seeds — ^The  country 
preferable  to  the  town  even  in  the  winter — Reasons  why  it  u 
deserted  at  that  season — Ruinous  efleets  of  gaiming  and  ef  9Z* 
pensive  improvement'— Book  concludes  with  an  apostrophe  totha 
metropolis. 


AS  one,  who  long  in  thickets  and  in  brdces 

Entangled,  winds  now  this  waj  and  now  that 

His  devious  course  uncertain,  seeking  home; 

Or  having  long  in  miry  ways  been  foiPd     . 

And  sore  discomfited,  from  slough  to  slough  S 

Plimghig,  and  half  despairing  of  escape  ; 

if  chance  at  length  he  find  a  greensward  smooth 

And  faithful  to  the  foot,  his  spirits  rise, 

Ho  chcrups  brisk  his  car-erecting  steed, 

And  winds  his  way  with  pleasure  and  with  ease  .      W ' 

So  I,  designing  other  themes,  and  call'd 

T'  ailorn  the  Sofa  with  culogium  due, 


THE  GAKUjii^.  53 

To  tell  its  slumbers,  and  to  paint  its  dreams, 
Have  rambled  wide.    In  country,  city,  seat 
Of  academic^  fame,  (howe'er  deserved,)  16 

Long  held,  and  scarcely  disengaged  at  last : 
But  now  with  pleasant  pace  a  cleanlier  road 
I  mean  to  tread.    I*feel  myself  at  large, 
Courageous,  and  refresh'd  for  future  toil, 
If  toil  await  me,  or  if  dangers  new.  20 

Since  pulpits  fail,  and  sounding  boards  reflect 
Most  part  an  empty  ineffectual  sound. 
What  chance  that  I,  to  fame  so  little  known, 
Nor  conversant  with  men  or  manners  much, 
Should  speak  to  purpose,  or  with  better  hope  25 

Crack  the  satirick  thong  ?  *Twere  wiser  far 
For  me,  enamoured  of  sequester 'd  scenes, 
And  charm'd  with  rural  beauty,  to  repoje 
Where  chance  may  throw  me,  beneath  elm  hr  Tine 
My  languid  limbs ;  when  summer  sears  the  plains ;  30 
Or,  when  rough  winter  rages,  on  the  soil 
And  shelter'd  Sofa,  while  the  nitrous  air 
Feeds  a  blue  flame,  and  makes  a  cheerful  hearth ; 
There,  undisturbed  by  Folly,  and  apprized 
How  great  the  danger  of  disturbing  her,  36 

To  muse  in  silence,  or  at  least  confine 
Remarks,  that  gall  so  many,  to  the  few 
My  partners  in  retreat.    Disgust  conceal'd 
Is  ofttimes  proof  of  wisdom,  when  the  fault 

Is  obstinate,  and  cure  beyond  our  reach.  40 

Dbmestick  happiness,  thou  only  bliss 

Of  Paradise,  that  has  surriT'd  the  fall ! 

Though  few  now  taste  thee  unimpaired  and  pure 

Or  tasting,  long  enjoy  thee  !  too  infirm, 

OftoonicauUous,  to  preserve  thy  sweets  45 

Unmix'd  with  drops  of  bitter,  which  neglect 

Or  temper  sheds  into  thy  crystal  cup ; 

Thou  art  the  nurse  of  Virtue— in  thine  arms   - 

She  smiles,  appearing,  as  in  truth  she  is, 

Heav'n-bom,  and  destined  to  the  skies  again.  60 

5« 


64  THE  TASK. 

Thou  art  not  known  where  Pleasure  is  ador  d, 

That  reeling  goddess,  vrith  the  zoncless  wmtst 

And  wandVing  eyes,  still  leaning  on  the  arm 

Of  PJovelty,  her  fickle,  frail  support  ^  > 

For  thou  art  meek  and  constant,  hating  change,       66 

And  finding  in  the  calm  of  truth-tHed  lovtf, 

Joys  tliat  her  stormy  raptures  i»ver  yield. 

Forsaking  thee,  what  fthipwrwk  have  we  maik 

Of  honour,  4i^ity,  and  fair  renown  ! 

Till  prostitution  elbows  us  aside  60 

In  all  our  crowded  streets ;  and  senates  seent 

Convened  for  purposes  of  empire  less 

Than  to  release  the  adulteress  from  her  bond. 

Th*  adulteress !  what  a  tlieme  for  angry  verse ! 

What  provocation  to  th'  indignant  heart, .  €5 

That  feels  for  injur'd  love  !  but  I  disdain 

The  nauseous  task  to  paint  her  as  she  is, 

Cruel,  abandoned,  glorying  in  her  shame  ? 

No : — let  her  pliss,  and,  charioted  along 

In  guilty  splendour,  shake  the  pnblick  wa3r8 ;  7Q 

The  frequency  of  crimes  has  wash'd  them  whitei 

And  verse  of  mine  riiall  never  brand  the  wretch, 

Whom  matrons  now  of  character  unsmirch'd 

And  chaste  themselves,  are  not  asham'd  to  own*. 

YixU»'M^d  vice  had  jound*ries  in  old  tilM«  ^ 

Not  to  be  pass'd :  and  she  that  had  renounced 

Her  sex's  honour,  was  renounced  herself 

By  all  that  priz'd  it ;  not  for  prud'ry's  sake 

But  dignity's,  resentful  of  the  wrong. 

'Twas  hard  perhaps  on  here  and  there  a  waif,  €0 

Desirous  to  return  and  not  received  * 

But  was  a  whc^esome  rigour  in  the  main, 

And  taught  Ut'  unblemished  to  preserve  with  care  ' 

That  purity,  wliose  loss  was  loss  of  all. 

Men  too  were  nice  in  honour  in  those  days,  86 

And  judg'd  offenders  well.     Then  he  that  sharped,    - 

And  pocketed  a  prize  by  fraud  obtain'd, 

Was  mark'd  and  ahunn'd  as  odious.    Ho  that  sold 


THE  GARDEN.  » 

HU  country,  or  was  Black  when  she  reqnir'd 
His  ey*r7  nerve  in  action  and  at  Btretch,  BO 

Paid  with  the  blood  that  he  had  basely  spared 
The  price  of  hie  de&ult.    But  now — yeSji|QW 
We  are  become  so  candid  and  so  fair 
So  lib*ralin  coastrtfction.  ami  so  rich 
In'cfinstian  charity^  (good  natur'd  age  !)  96 

Thatthey  are  safe  j  sinners  of  eitHer  sex 
Trsnfigress  what  laws  they  may.  IWell  dreM'di  %^ 

bred,  '> ^"-  - 

Well  equipa^(J,  la.tlQket^ood  encmgl^ 
To  pass  as  readily  tJurough  cv'ry'door^ 
Hypocrisy,  detest  her  as  we  maji  100 

(^d  no  man's  hatred  ever  wroiig;d  her  yet, 
May  claim  this  merit  still — ^that  she  admits 
The  worth  of  what  she^mimicks^  with  such  eare. 
And  thus  gives  virtue  indirect  applause  ; 
But  she  has  burnt  her  mask;,  not  needed  here^         10& 
'  ^  Where  vice  Kas  such  allowanco,  that  her  shifts 
AndlBpecious  semblances  have  lost  their  use. 

T'Ws  a  stricken  deer,  that  left  the^herd 
hong^S^e,    With  many  an  arrow  deep  infixed 
Klypanting  side  was  charged,  when  I  withdrew      110 
To  seek  a  tranquil  death  in  distant  shades, 
'''here  was  I  found  by  one  who  hod  himself 
Been  hurt  by  th'  archers.    In  his  side  he  botr^ 
And  in  his  hands  and  feet,  the  cruel  scars. 
With  gentle  force  soliciting  the  darts,  115 

He  drew  them  forth,  and  heal'd,  and  bade  me  lira. 
Since  then,  with  few  associates,  in  remote 
Aiad  silent  woods  I  wander,  far  from  those 
My  former  partners  of  the  peopled  ocextB ; 
With  few  associates,  and  not  wishing  more.  120 

Here  much  I  ruminate,  as  much  I  may, 
With  dther  views  of  men  and  manners  now 
Than  once,  and  others  of  a  life  to  oome  * 
I  see  tliat  all  are  wand'rers,  gone  astraf 
Gacli  ia  his  own  delusions  }  they  are  lost  125 


66  THE  TASK. 

In -chase  of  fancied  happiness,  still  woo'd 
And  never  won.    Dream  after  dream  ensues ; 
And  still  thej  dream  that  they  shall  ^ili  succeed, 
And  still  are  disappointed.    Rings  the  world 
With  the  vain  stir.    I  sum  up  half  manxind  IM 

And  add  two  thirds  of  the  remaining  half, 
And  find  the  total  of  their  hopes  and  fe^ya. 
DreMUS^  empty^reama.    The  million  flit  as  gay, 
As  if  created  only  like  the  fly, 

That  spreads  his  motley  wings  in  th'  eye  of  noon,.135 
To  sport  their  season,  and  be  seen  no  more. 
The  rest  are  y)ber  dreamers,  grave  and  wise, 
And  pregnant  with  discoveries  new  and  rare. 
Some  write  a  narrative  of  wars,  and  feats 
Of  heroes  little  known ;  and  call  the  rant  140 

A  history :  describe  the  man,  of  whom 
His  own  coevals  took  but  little  note, 
And  paint  his  person,  character,  and  views^ 
As  they  had  known  him  from  his  mother's  womb. 
They  disentangle  from  the  puzzled  skein,  145 

In  which  obscurity  haff  wrapp'd  them  up. 
The  threads  of  poUtick  and  shrewd  design, 
That  ran  through  all  his  purposes,  and  charge 
His  mind  with  meanings  that  he  never  had. 
Or,  having,  kept  conceal'd.    Some  drill  and  boro    150 
The  solid  earth,  and  from  the  strata  there 
Extract  a  register,  by  which  we  learn. 
That  he  who  made  it  and  reveal'd  its  date 
To  Moses,  was  mistaken  in  its  age,  * 
Some,  more  acute,  and  more  industrious  still,         156 
Contrive  creation  ;  travel  nature  up 
.  To  ihe  sharp  peak  of  her  sublimest  height. 
And  tell  us  whence  the  stars ;  why  some  are  fix'd, 
And  planetary  some  ;  what  gave  them  first 
Rotation,  from  what  fountain  flowed  their  light.      ICC 
Great  contest  follows,  and  much  learned  dust 
Involves  the  combatants ;  each  claiming  truth, 
And  truth  disclaiming  both.    And  thus  they  q>eiid 


THE  GARDEN.  W 

The  little  wick  of  life's  poor  shallow  lamp 
lu  playing  tricks  with  nature,  giving  laws  166 

To  distant  worids,  and  trifling  in  their  own. 
fa*t  not  a  pity  now,  that  tickling  rheunis 
Should  ever  tease  the  lungs,  and  blear  the  sight 
Of  oracles  like  these  ?  Great  pity,  too, 
That  having  wielded  th*  elements,  and  built  170 

A  thousand  systems,  each  in  his  own  way, 
They  should  go  out  in  fume,  and  be  forgot- 
Ah  !  what  is  life  thus  spent  ?  and  what  are  they 
But  frantick,  who  thus  spend  it  ?  all  for  smoke^ 
Eternity  for  bubbles,  proves  at  last  175 

A  senseless  bargain.    When  I  see  sQc]i.gaine8^ 
Pby'd  by  the  creatures  of  a  jk)w>  who  swears 
That  he  will  judge  the  Ead:h,  and  call  the  feol 
To  a  sharp  reckoning,  that  lias  liv'd  in  vain ; 
And  when  I  weigh  this  seeming  wisdom  weU,         Ib0 
And  prove  it  in  th*  infallible  result 
8o  hollow  and  so  false — ^I  feel  my  heart 
Dissolve  in  pity,  and  account  the  learned, 
If  this  be  learning,  most  of  all  deceiv'd.. 
Great  crimes  alarm  the  conscience,  but  it  sleepsy    185 
While  thoughtful  man  is  plausibly  amosed. 
Defend  me,  tlierelbre,  common  sense,  say  I, 
From  reveries  so  airy,  from  the  toil 
Of  dropping  buckets  into  empty  wells,, 
And  growing  oM  in  drawing  nothing  np !  190 

'Twere  well,  says  one,  sage,  erudite,  profound  ' 
Terribly  arch'd  and  aquiline  his  nose, 
And  overbuilt  with  mont  impending  brows, 
Twere  well,  could  you  permit  the  ^.orld.talbw  ^ 
As  the  world  pleases :  what's  the  World  to  you  ?    195* 
Much.    I  was  uom  of  woman,  and  drew  milk     « 
As  sweet  as  charity  from  human  breasts. 
I  tliink,  articulate — I  laugh  and  weep, 
And  exercise  all  functions  of  a  man. 
How  then' should  I  and  any  man  that  liYes  200 

Be  strangers  to  each  other  ?  Pierce  my  vein, 


68  THE  TASK. 

Take  of  the  crimscu  stream  meand'ring  there, 
/Vnd  catechise  it  well :  •apply  thy  glass, 
Search  it,  and  prove  now  if  it  be  not  blood 
Congenial  with  thine  own :  and,  if  it  be,  99Q 

What  edge  of  subtlety  canst  thou  suppose 
Keen  enough,  wise  and  skilful  as  thou  art, 
To  cut  the  link  of  brotherhood,  by  whieh 
One  common  Maker  bound  me  to  the  kind  ? 
True  ;  I  am  no  proficient,  I  confess,  810 

In  arts  like  yours.    I  cannot  call  the  swift 
And  perilous  lightnings  from  the  angry  clouds. 
And  bid  them  hide  th<iraselves  u^eaxth  beneath ; 
I  eannot  analyze  the  air,  not  catch 
The  piurallax  of  yonder  luminous  )>oint,  215 

That  seems  half  quench'd  in  the  ipimense  abyss  • 
Such  powers  I  boast  not — neither  can  I  rest 
A  silent  witness  of  the  headlong  rage, 
Or  heedless  foUy,  by  which  thousands  die, 
Bone  of  my  bone,  and  kindred  souls  to  mine.  220 

God  never  meant  that  man  should  scale  ^e  Heav*mi 
By  stridesjjfjii^an  wisdom;  "liiTifs  works. 
Though  wondrous,  he  commands  us  in  his  word 
To  seek  him  rather  where  his  mercy  shines. 
The  mind,  indeed,  enlightened  from  above,  225 

Views  him  in  all ;  ascribes  to  the  grand  cause 
The  grand  effect ;  acknowledges  with  joy 
His  manner,  and  with  rapture  tastes  his  style. 
But  nevBr  yet  did  philosophick  tube. 
That  brings  the  planets  home  into  the  eye  230 

Of  observation,  and  discovers,  else 
Not  visible,  his  family  of  worlds, 
t>iscover  him  that  rules  them  ;  such  a  veil 
Flangs  over  mortal  eyes,  blind  from  the  birUi, 
And  dark  in  things  divine.     Full  often  too,  4^ 

Our  wayward  intellect,  tlie  more  we  learn 
Of  nature,  overlooks  her  author  more ; 
From  instrumental  causes  proud  to  draw 
C^onclusions  retrograde,  and  mad  mistake 


THF  GARDEN.  59 

But  if  bis  word  once  teach  us — shoot  a  nj  940 

Tlirough  all  the  hearths  dark  chambers,  and  revMl 
Troths  undiscem'd  but  by  that  hcAj  light ; 
Then  all  is  plain.     Philosophy,  baptiz'd 
In  the  pure  fountain  of  eternal  love, 
Has  e jes  indeed ;  and  yiewing  all  she  sees  245 

As  meant  to  indicate  a  Grod  t6  man, 
Giyes  him  his  praise,  and  forfeits  not  her  own. 
Learning  has  borne  such  fruit  in  other  days 
On  all  her  branches :  piety  has  found 
Friends  in  the  friends  of  science,  and  true  pray'r  SSft 
Has  flowed  from  lips  wet  with  Castalian  dews. 
Stich  was  thy  wisdom,  NewtMi,  childlike  sago !    * 
Sagacious  reader  of  the  Works  of  Crod, 
And  in  his  word  sagacious.    Such,  too,  thine, 
Milton,  whose  genius  had  angelick  wings,  83C 

And  fed  on  manna !  And  such  thine^  in  whom 
Our  British  Themis  gloried  with  just  cause, 
Immortal  Hale  !  for  deep  discernment  prais'd, 
And  sound  integrity,  not  more  than  fam*d 
For  sanctity  of  manners  undefil'd.'  909 

^  All  flesh  is  fprass,  and  all  its  glory  fades    . 
Like  Uie  fair  flow*r  dishevell'd  in  Uie  wind ;  ) 
Riches  have  wings,  and  grandeur  is  a  dreain , 
The  man  we  celebrate  must  find  a  tomb,    • 
And  wo  that  worship  him,  ignoble  graves.  265 

Nothing  is  proof  against  the  gen'ral  curse 
Of  vanity  Uiat  seizes  all  below. 
The  only  amaranthine  flow'r  on  eartlj 
Is  virtue  ;  th*  only  lasting  trejMjire.  tn^i^ 
SuTw^Tui'trntli  ?  'Twas  Pilate's  question  put      270 
To  Truth  itself,  that  deign*d  him  no  reply. 
And  wherefore  ?  will  not  God  impart  his  light 
To  them  that  adtit  ? — Freely — His  hb  joy, 
His  g^ory,  and  his  nature,  to  impart. 
But  to  the  proud,  uncandid,  insincere,  278 

Or  negligent  inquirer,  not  a  spark. 
What's  that  which  brings  contempt  upon  a  book. 


=^ 


m  THE  TASR.      , 

And  hiin  who  writes  it,  though  tlie  style  be  iieat» 

The  method  clotir,  and  ar^ment  exact  r 

That  makes  a  minister  in  holy  tnings  '  M 

.  The  joy  of  many,  and  the  dread  of  more. 

'  His  name  a  theme  for  praise  and  for  reproack  ^ 
That,  while  it  gives  as  worth  in  God's  account,    . 
Depreciates  and  uadoes  «8  in  our  own  ?     ^ 
What  pearl  is  it,  that  rich  men  cannot  buy,  S8S 

That  learning  is  too  proud  to  gather  np ; 
Bat  which  Che  poor,  and  the  despised  of  att. 
Seek  and  obtain,  and  often  fmd  unsought ; 
Tell  me— and  I  will  UU  thee  what  is  truth. 

O  friendly  te  the  b^st  pursmts  of  maa,  SM 

Friendly  to  thought,  to  Tirtue,  and  to  peaoe  * 
Domestick  life  in  rural  leisters  pas8*d ! 
Fen^know  thy  ralue,  and  few  taste  thy  sweets ; 
Though  many  boost  thy  &T«n^8,  and  aibet 
To  understand  and  ehooee  thee  for  their  own.         fK 
But  foolish  man  fbregoes  his  proper  bliss, 
E*en  af  his  first  progenitor,  arid  quhs. 
Though  plac'd  in  Paradise,  (for  earth  has  stifi, 
Some  traces  of  her  youthful  beauty  left) 
Substantial  happiness  for  transient  joy :  900 

Scenes  form'd  lor  contemplation,  and  to  nurse 
The  growing  seeds  of  wisdom ;  that  suggest. 
By  ev'ry  pleasing  image  they  present. 
Reflections  such  as  meliorate  the  heart. 
Compose  the  passions,  and  exalt  the  mind ;  506 

Scenes  such  as  these  'tis  his  supreme  detfght 
To  fill  with  riot,  and  deile  with  blood. 
Should  seme  eonti^ioa,  kmd  te  the  pebr  bnitM 
We  persecute,  annihikte  the  tribes 
That  draw  the  sportsman  over  hill  and  dale,  9tO 

Fearless  and  wrapt  away  from  all  his  cares ; 
Should  never  game-fowl  hatch  her  eggs  agahi, 
Nor  baited  hook  deceive  the  fisli's  eye ; 
Could  pageantry  and  dance,  and  feast  and  song, 
Bo  quell'd  in  all  our  summer-months*  retreats;        315 


THJC  GARDKN.  ^ 

How  Many  aelf-doludad  nymphs  and  swatnt, 
Who  dream  they  huve  a  t&«te  for  ileWs  and  ^tv^%9, 
Would  find  them  hideous  ntirs'rios  of  the  epleen, 
And  crowd  t^M  roads,  hapatieat  for  the  town ! 
j^^jQYfi  thfl  finnalry,  and  mm  fi1fy>,whft.8eek^    82C 
For  their  own  sake,  its  Hler|Sd.faulitafilud&.  * 
Delights  whicli  who  would  leikve  that  has  a  heart 
Susceptible  of  pHy,  or  a  mind  <- 
Caltar*d  and  cap«hifr  of  sober  thought 
For  all  the  savage  dki  of  the  swift  pook  aK 

And  clamours  of  the  field  f>-£>etest«d  sport;  ' 
That  owes  its  pleasUMS  to  aaothef  Is  pain  ; 
Tliat  feeds  upon  tho  sobs  and  dying  shrieks 
Of  harmless  nature,  dumb,  but  yot  endued 
With  elocptSBee,  that  Agonies  inspire,  890 

Of  silent  tMi«  imd  heart-distending  sighs  f 
Vain  tears,  ake,  and  sighs  (hat  Mver  find 
A  eorrei^toading  tene  4n  jovial  sduls ! 
Wall — one  at  least  is  safe.    One  shelter 'd  haafe 
Has  never  heard  tba  sang mnary  yell  835 

Of  cruel  ma%  ebudting  in  her  woes. 
Innocent  partner  of  my  peacefol  home. 
Whom  ten  kng  years^  experienee  of  my  car© 
Has-  madaat  lastfiuniUar !  ^e  has  lost 
Much  of  her  vigilant  instinoiive  dread,    '  340 

Not  needful  here,  beneath  a  roof  like  mine. 
Yes— thou  mayst  eat  thy  bread,  and  lick  the  hand 
That  feeds  thee  j  theu  mayst  ftolick  on  the  floor 
At  ev*ningy  and  at  night  retire  secure 
To  thy  straw  ooooh,  and  shxmber  iHrtilarm*d  ,         34? 
For  I  have  gahwd  thy  6onfidene»,^httve  pledged 
All  that  is  human  in  me,  to  preteet 
Thine  unsuspecting  gratitude  and  We. 
If  I  survive  thee,  I  will  dig  thy  grave  5 
And,  when  1  place  thee  in  it,  sighmg  say,  360 

i  knew  at  least  one  bare  that  had  a  fnend.* 


Vol.  II. 


*  See  the  note  at  the  4Mid. 
C, 


eg  THE  TASK. 

How  Fufisiip  his  QiBplQjpQentSy  wbom  Um  woM 

I  Calls  idle  ',  and  who  justly  in  return 
Elsteems  that  busy  world  an  idler  too ! 
Friends,  books,  a  garden,  and  perhaps  his  pen^       358 
Delightful  industry  enjoy'd  at  home. 
And  nature  in  her  cultivated  trim 
Dress'd  to  his  taste,  inviting  him  abroad^ 
Can  he  want  occupation  who  has  these  ? 
Will  he  be  idle  who  has  much  t*  eiyoy  ?  366 

Me  therefore  studious  of  laboriflus  ease. 

'  Not  slothful,  happy  to  deceivVthe  time, 
Not  waste  it,  and  aware  th^  human  life 
Is  but  a  loan  to  be  repaid  with  use. 
When  He  shall -call  his  debtors  to  account,  365 

From  whom  are  all  our  blessings,  bumness  find* 
E;en  here :  while  sedulous  I  seek  t*  improve^ 
At  least  neglect  not,  or  leave  unemployed, 
The  mind  he  gave  me ;  driving  it,  though  slack 
Too  oft,  and  much  impeded  in  its  work  37tt 

By  causes  not  to  be  divulg'd  in  vain, 
To  its  just  point — the  service  of  mai^ind. 
He  that  attends  to  his  interioitf  self, 
That  has  a  heart,  and  keeps  it ;  has  a  mind 
That  hungers  and  supplies  it ;  and  who.Beeks        379 
A  social,  not  a  dissipated  life, 
I}a0  business ;  feels  himself  engaged  t*  achieve 
No  unimportant,  though  a  silent  task. 
A  life  all  turbulence  and  noise  may  seem 
To  him  that  leads  it  wise,  and  to  be  prais'd;  380 

But  wisdom  is  a  pearl  with  most  success 
Sought  in  still  water,  and  beneath  dear  skies 
He  that  is  ever  occupied  in  storms, 
Or  dives  not  for  it,^  or  brings  up  instead. 
Vainly  industrious,  a  disgraceful  pri^e.  .  38S 

The  mornJQg  finds  the  self-sequester 'd«  man 
Fresh  for  his  task,  intend  what  task  he  may. 
Whether  inclement  seasons  recommend 
His  warm  but  simple  home,  where  he  enjoys 


THE  GARDEN.  fl3 

With  her  who  shares  bis  pleasures  and  his  heart,   990 
Sweet  ceavezse,  sipping  calm  the  fragrant  lymph, 
Wliich  neatly  she  prepares :  then  to  his  book 
Well  chosen,  and  not  sullenly  perused 
In  selfish  silence,  but  imparted,  oil 
As  aught  occurs  that  she  may  smile  to  hear,  395 

Or  turn  to  nourishment,  digested  well. 
Or  if  the  garden  with  its  many  cares. 
All  well  repaid,  demand  him,  he  attends 
The  welcome  cdl,  conscious  how  mncli  the  hand 
Of  lubbord  Labour  needs  his  watchful  eye,  400 

Ofl  loit'ring  lazily,  if  not  o'erscen, 
Or  misapplying  his  unskilful  strength. 
Nor  does  he  govern  only,  or  direct. 
But  much  performs  himself..  No  works  indeed, 
That  ask  robust,  tough  sinews  bred  to  toil,  405 

Servile  employ ;  but  such  as  may  amuse. 
Not  tire,  demanding  rather  skill  than  force. 
Proud  of  his  well-spread  walls,  he  views  his  trees, 
That  meet,  no  barren  interval  between. 
With  pleasure  more  than  e*en  their  fruits  afford ;    410 
Which,  save  himself  who  trains  tliem,  none  can  feeL 
These  therefore  are  his  own  peculiar  charge ; 
No  meaner  hand  may  discipline  the  shoots. 
None  but  his  steel  approach' them.    What  is  weak. 
Distempered,  or  has  lost  prolifick  powers,  415 

Impaired  by  age,  his  unrelenting  hand 
Doom#4n  the  knifpi..*  nor  does  he  spare  the  soft 
And  succulent,  that  feeds  its  giant  growth, 
But  barren,  at  th*  expense  of  neighb*ring  twigs 
Less  ostentatious,  and.  yet  studded  thick  420 

With  hopeful  gems.    The  rest,  no  portion  left 
That  may  disgrace  his  art,  or  disappoint 
Large  expectation,  he  disposes  neat 
At  measured  distances,  that  ail'  and  sun, 
Admitted  freely  may  afford  their  aid,  42Si 

And  ventilate  and  warm  the. swelling  buds. 
Hence  summer  has  her  riches.  Autumn  hence,. 


61  .   THE  TASK. 

And  licnce  e'en  Winter  fills  kis  withor'd  hand 

With  bluBhiag  fruits,  and  plenty  not  his  own.* 

Fair  recomptnse  of  labour  well  bestow'd,  430 

And  wise  precaution  ;  which  a  cliroe  so  rude 

Makes  needful  still,  whose  Spring  is  hut  ths  child 

Of  churlish  Winter,  in  her  froward  mooda 

Discovering  much  the  temper  of  her  aire* 

For  oil,  as  if  in  hor  the  stream  of  miM  43K 

Maternal  nature  had  reveni'd  its  eouxse, 

Shb  brings  her  infants  forth  with  mwy  sodlet ; 

But  once  doUver'd,  kills  them  with  a  frown. 

He  therefore,  timely  wam'd,  himself  supplier 

Her  want  of  care,  screening  and  keeping  warm     449 

The  plenteous  bloom,  that  hq  rough  blast  may  swe^ 

His  garland?  from  the^bouglis.    Again,  as  oft 

As  the  sun  peeps,  and  vernal  airs  breathe  imld* 

The  fence  withdrawn,  he  gives  them  ev'ry  beam^ 

And  spreads  his  hopes  before  the  blaze  of  day.       44$ 

To  raise  the  ^dpklj  and  gr^en-coated  goard» 
So  grateful  to  the  palate,  and  when  rare 
So  coveted,  else  base  and  disestecm'd- 
Food  for  the  vulgar  merely — is  ai^  art 
That  toiling  ages  have  but  just  matur'di  450 

And  at  this  moment  unessay'd  in  song. 
Yet  gnats  have  had,  and  irogs  and  miee,  long  sme% 
Their  eulogy  ;  those  sang  the  Mantuan  bard. 
And  these  the  Grecian,  in  ennobling  strains; 
And  in  thy  numbers.  Philips,  shines  for  aye  459 

Tlie  solitary  shilling.     Pardon,  then. 
Ye  sage  dispensers  of  poetick  fajna, 
Th'  ambition  of  one  meaner  far j  whose  pow'ra^ 
Presuming  an  attempt  not  less  subUme, 
Pant  for  the  praise  of  dressing  to  the  taste  460 

Of  critick  appetite,  no  sordid  fare, 
A  encumber,  while  costly  yet  and  scarce* 

The  stable  yields  a  stercoraceouB  hea^ 

^  MiraUirque  novos  fiructus  et  non  sua  poma.     Vvgm 


THE  GARDEN.  • 

impregnated  with  qaick  fermenting  salts, 
And  potent  to  resist  the  freezing  blast :  46S 

For  ere  the  beech  and  elm  have  cast  their  leaf 
Dociduoas,  when  now  Kovember  dark 
Checks  vegetation  in  the  torpid  plant 
Exposed  to  his  cold  breath,  the  task  begins. 
Warily,  therefore,  and  with  prudent  heed,  47Q, 

He  seeks  a  favour'iLspot ;  that  where  he  builds 
Th'  agglomerated  pile  his  frame  may  front 
The  sun's  nieridian  disk,  and. at  the  back 
Enjoy  close  shelter,  wall,  or  reeds,  or  hedge 
Impervious  to. the  wind.    First  he  bids  spread         475 
Dry  fern  or  littered  hay,  that  may  imbibe 
Th*  ascending  damps;  then  leisurely  impose, 
And  lightly  shaking  it  with  agile  hand 
From  the  full  fork,  the  saturated  straw. 
What  longest  binds  the  closest  forms  secure  480 

The  shapely  side,  that  as  it  rises  takes, 
By  just  degrees,  an  overhanging  breath,         ^ 
Sheltering  the  base  with  its  projected  eaves ; 
■  Th*  uplifted  frame,  compact  at  ev'ry  joint. 
And  overlaid  with  clear  translucent  glass,  485 

He  settles  next  upon  the  sloping  mount. 
Whose  sharp  declivity  shoots  off  secure 
From  the  dash*d  pane  the  dduge  as  it  fUls. 
He  shuts  it  close,  and  the  first  labour  ends. 
Thrice  must  the  voluble  and  testless  Eartii  499 

Spin  round  upon  her  axle,  ere  the  warmth,  ^ 

Slow  gath'ring  in  the  midst,  through  the  square  mass 
Diffused,  attain  the  surface  ;  when,  behold ! 
A  pestilent  and  most  corrosive  stream, 
Like  a  gross  fog  Boeotian,  rising  fast,  496 

And  fast  condcns'd  upon  the  dewy  sash. 
Asks  egress  ?  which  obtain*d,  the  overeharg'd 
And  drench'd  conservatory  breathes  abroad, 
In  volumes  wheeling  slow  the  vapoturdank; 
\nd,  purified,  rejoices  to  have  lost  600 

Its  foul  inhabitant.    But  to  assuage 


*^=»S 


0i  THE  TA»K. 

Th*  impatient  fervour,  which  it  first  conceives 
Within  its  roekisg  bosom,  threat'ntng  death 
To  his  young  i^^es,  recpuros  diacreeV  dchiy. 
Experience,  slow  preceptress,  Reaching  oh  506 

The  way  to  glory  by  miscarriage  foul, 
Bf  nst  prompt  hixa,  aad  admonish  bow  to  catch 
.Th*  auspicious  movant,  when  the  tcmper'd  heat| 
Friendly  to  vital  motion,  may  afford 
Soft  fomentation,  and  invite  the  seed.  &H 

The  seed,  selsotsd  wisely,  pktmp»  and  sroootbi 
And  glossy,  ho  commits  to  pots  of  size 
Diminutive,  well  fiU'd  with  well-preparVi 
And  fruitful  s^,  that  has  been  treasur'd  long. 
And  drank  no  moisture  fj^om  the  dripping  douda.  515 
These  on  the  wwm  and  genial  earth  that  hides 
The  smoking  manure,  and  o'eispreads  it  all, 
He  places  UghUy,  and,  as  time  subdues 
The  rage  of  fermentation,  plunges  deep 
In  the  soft  medium,  tilljthey  stand  immers'd.  590 

Then  rise  tiie  tender  germs,  upstarting  quick 
And  spreadip0  wide  -thoir  spongy  lobes  ;  at  fissi 
Fl^Oi  wan,  apd  livid ,  but  assuming  soon. 
If  fann'd  by  l^ahny  and  nutritious  air. 
Strained  through  the  friendly  mats,  a  vivid  green.  525 
Two  leaves- produced,  two  rough  indented  loa;vas. 
Cautious  he- pinches  from  the  second  stalk 
A  pimple  thai  portends  a  future  sprout, 
And  interdicts  its  growth.    Thence  strught  succeed 
The  branches,  sturdy  to  his  utmost  wish  ;  530 

Prolifick  all,  and  harbingers  of  more. 
The 'crowded  roots  demand  enlargement  now. 
And  transplantation  in  an  ampler  space. 
Indulg'd  in  what  they  wish,  they  soon  supply 
Large  foliage,  overshadowing  golden  fiow'is,  536 

Blown  on  the  summit  of  the  apparent  fruit. 
These  have  their  sozes ;  and  when  summer  shines 
'J^  bee  transports  the  fertilizing  meal 
From  flow'r  to  flow'r,  and  e'en  the  breathing  air 


THE  GARDEN.  67 

Wafls  the  rich  prize  to  its  appointed  use.  540 

Not  so  when  winter  scowls.  Assistant  Art 
Then  acts  in  Nature's  office,  brin^  to  pass 
The  ^lad  espousals,  and  ensures  the  crop. 

Grndge  not,  yB  rick,  (since  Luxury  must  have 
His  dainties,  and  the  World's  more  nnm'rous  half  50t 
Lives  by  contriving  delicates  for  you,) 
Grudge  not  the  cost.    Te  little  know  the  cares 
The  vigilance,  the  labour,  and  the  skill, 
That  day  and  night  are  exercis'd,  and  hang 
Upon  the  ticklish  balance  of  suspense,  560 

That  ye  may  garnish  your  profuse  regales 
With  summer  fruits  brought  forth  by  wintry  sons. 
Ten  thousand  dangers  lie  in  wait  to  thwart 
The  process.    Heat,  and  cold,  and  wind,  and  steam, 
Moisture  and  drought,  mice,  worms,  and  swarming; 
flies,  555 

Minute  as  dust,  and  numberless,  ofl  work 
Dire  disappointment,  that  admits  no  cure,  • 

And  whidh  no  care  can  obviate.    It  were  long, 
Too  Jong,  to  tell  th'  expedients  and  the  shifts, 
Which  he  that  fights  a  season  so  severe  500 

Devises  while  he  guards  his  tender  trust ; 
And  oft  at  last  in  vain.    The  leam'd  and  wise 
Sarcastick  would  exclaim,  and  judge  the  song 
Cold  as  its  theme,  and  like  its  theme  the  fruit 
Of  too  much  labour,  worthless  when  produced.   .   565 

Who'  loves  a  garden  loves  a  green-}ioiH»  too 
Unconscious  of  a  less  propitious  clime. 
There  blooms  exotick  beauty,  warm  and  snug^ 
While  the  winds  whistle  and  the  snows  descend 
The  spiry  myrtle  with  unwith'ring  leaf  570 

Shines  there,  and  flourishes.    The  golden  boast 
Of  Portugal  and  western  India  there. 
The  ruddier  orange,  and  the  paler  lime 
Peep  through  their  polish'd  foliage  at  the  storm, 
And  seem  to  smile  at  what  they  need  not  fear.       575 
The  amomum  there  with  intermingling  flow'rs 


6h  Tin:  TASK. 

And  cherries  hangs  her  iwig-s.     Geranium  boasts 

Her  crimson  honours  ;  and  the  spangled  bcau^ 

Ficoides  glitters  bright  the  winter  long. 

All  plants  of  ev'ry  leaf,  that  can  endure  580 

The  winter's  frown,  if  screen'd  from  his  shrewd  bitOy 

Live  there,  and  prosper.    Those  Ausonia  claims, 

Levantine  regions  these ;  th*  Azores  send 

Their  jessamine,  her  jessamine  remote 

Caffraria :  foreigners  from  many  lands,  585 

Thej  form  one  social  shade,  as  if  convened 

By  magick  summons  of  th'  Orphean  lyre. 

Yet  just  arrangement,  rarely  brought  to  pass 

But  by  a  master's  hand,  disposing  well 

The  gay  diversitie^a  of  leaf  and  flow'r,  590 

Must  lend  its  aid  t*  illustrate  all  their  charmS| 

And  dress  the  regular  yet  various  scene. 

Hant  behind  plant  aspiring,  in  the  van 

The  dwarfish,  in  the  rear  retir'd,  but  still 

Sublime  above  the  rest,  the  statelier  stand.  Q95 

So  once  were  rang'd  the  sons  of  ancient  UomOi 

A  noble  show  !  while  Roscius  trod  the  stage  ; 

And  so,  while  Garrick,  as  renown'd  as  he, 

The  sons  of  Albion ;  fearing  each  to  lose 

Some  note  of  Nature's  musick  from  his  lips,  ,         600 

And  covetous  of  Shakspeare's  beauty,  seen 

Tn  ev'ry  flash  of  his  far -beaming  eye, 

Nor  taste  alone  and  well-contriv'd  display 

Suffice  to  give  the  marshall'd  ranks  the  grace 

Of  their  complete  effect.    Much  yet  remains  60& 

Unsung,  and  many  cares  are  yet  behind, 

And  more  laborious  ;  cares  on  which  depend 

Their  vigour,  injur'd  soon,  not  soon  restor'd. 

The  soil  must  be  renew'd,  which  oflen  wash'd 

Loses  its  treasure  of  salubrious  salts,  010 

And  disappoints  the  roots ;  the  slender  roots 

Close  interwoven,  where  they  meet  the  vase. 

Must  smooth  be  shorn  away  ;  the  sapless  brancl^ 

Mu^t  fly  before  the  knife  ;  the  withcr'd  leaf 


.J 


THE  GARDEN.  (0 

Must  be  detached,  and  where  it  strews  the  floor      B15 
Sw%pt  witii  a  woman's  neatness,  breeding  «lse 
Contagion  and  disseminating  death. 
Discharge  but  these  kind  oiEces,  (and  who 
Would  spare,  that  loves  them,  offices  like  thdte  f) 
Well  they  repay  the  toil.    The  sight  is  pleased^     010 
The  scent  regal*d^  each  odoriTrous  leaf, 
E&ch  opening  blossom,  freely  breathes  abroad 
Its  gratitude,  and  thank9  him  with  its  sweeti. 

So  manifold,  all  pleasing  in  their  kind, 
All' healthful,  are  th'-eiQfilojlft  of  rural  ]if9.  &15 

Reiterated  as  the  wheel  of  time 
Runs  round ;  still  ending,  and  beguming  itilL 
Nor  are  these  all.    To  deck  the  shapely  knoU 
That  sofUy  swell'd  and  gayly  dress'd  appears 
A  flow*ry  island,  from  the  dark  green  lawn  OV 

Emerging,  must  be  deemed  a  labour  due 
To  no  mean  hand,  and  asks  the  touch  of  iaste.. 
Here  also  grateful  mixture  of  well-match'd 
And  sorted  hues,  (each  giving  each  relief. 
And  by  contrasted  beauty  shining  more,)  635 

Is  needful.    Strength  may  wield  the  pcoid'rous  spadSy 
May  turn  the  clod,  and  wheel  the  compost  home  j 
But  elegance,  chief  grace  the  garden  showsi 
And  most  attractive,  is  the  fair  result 
Of  thought,  the  creature  of  a  polished  mind.  640 

Without  it  all  is  Gothick  as  the  scene 
To  which  th'  insipid  citizen  resorts 
Near  yonder  heath  ;  where  industry  miqpenti 
But  proud  of  his  uncouth,  ill-chosen  task, 
Has  made  a  Heav'n  on  Earth ;  with  suns  and  inooni 
Of  close-ramm'd  stones  has  charg'd  th*  encumber*d 
soil,  646 

And  fairly  laid  the  zodiack  in  the  dust. 
Re,  therefore,  who  would  see  his  flowers  disposed 
Sightly  and  in  just  order,  ere  he  gives 
The  beds  the  trusted  treasure  of  their  seeds,  6S0 

Forecasts  the  future  ^hole ;  that,  when  the  soeae 


70  ME  TASK. 

Shall  break  into  its  preconceived  display, 

Each  for  flself,  and  all  as  with  one  voice 

Conspiring,  may  attest  his  bright  design, 

Nor  even  then  dismissing  as  perform'd,  (j6& 

His  pleasant  work,  may  he  suppose  it  donc.^ 

Few  self-supported  fiow'rs  endure  the  wind 

Uninjur'd,  but  expect  the  upholding  aid 

Of  the  smooth  shaven  prop,  and,  neatly  tied, 

Arc  wedded  thus,  like  beauty  to  old  age,  660 

For  int'rest  sake,  the  living  to  the  dead. 

Some  clotlie  the  soil  that  feeds  them,  far  difi\i8*d 

And  lowly  creeping,  modest  and  yet  fair, 

Like  virtue,  thriving  most  where  little  seen 

Some  more  aspiring  catch  the  neighbour  shrub      666 

With  clasping  tendrils,  and  invest  his  branch, 

Eke  unadorned,  with  many  a  gay  festoon 

And  fragrant  chaplet,  recompensing  well 

Tho  strength  they  borrow  with  the  grace  they  lend. 

All  hate  the  rank  society  of  weeds,  670 

Noisome,  and  ever  greedy  to  exhaust 

Th'  impoverished  earth ;  an  overbearing  race, 

That,  like  the  multitude  made  faction  mad. 

Disturb  good  order,  and  degrade  true  worth. 

O  bjest  seclusion  JVpm  a  jarring  world, 
Which  he,  thus  occupied,  enjoys!  iletreat 
Cannot  indeed  tb  guilty  man  restore 
Lost  innocence,  or  cancel  follies  past ; 
But  it  has  peace,  and  much  secures  the  mind 
From  all  assaults  of  evil ;  proving  still  C80 

A  faithful  barrier,  not  o'erleapM  with  ease 
By  vicious  Custom,  raging  uncontrolled 
Abroad,  and  desolating  publick  life. 
When  fierce  Temptation,  seconded  within 
By  traitor  Appetite,  and  arm*d  with  darts  685 

Temper*d  in  Hell,  invades  the  throbbing  breast, 
To  combat  may  be  glorious,  and  success 
Perhaps  may  crown  us  ;  but  to^y  is  safe. 
Had  I  the  choice  of  sublunary  good. 


675 


THE  GARDEN.  71 

What  eocul  1  -wish,  that  I  possesa  Bot  h«re  ?  G90 

Health,  leisure^  means  t*  imgrpye  it^  frieiidship|  pcaoOi 

And  constant  qccu^ion  without  care. 
Thiis  Blesta  I  draw  a^pTcture^of  ^thatj^jajj 
tiopejfiflaaJB^eed^'diat  dissipated  muidi^  695 

And  proiiigat^^abas^rs  oT^a  world 

tTdei 


ould  seek  the  gt^tless  joys  thatldeioribe^ 
Allur*d  by  my  report :  but  9ure  no  Jess 
That  Mlf-«ondemn'd  they  most  neglect  the  pma,  70Q 
And  what  they  will  net  taste  mjoat  yet  approTO. 
What  we  adndre  we  praise ;  and  when  we  pouM 
Advance  it  into  notioe,  that,  its  worth  . 
Acknowledged,  others  may  admire  it  too. 
I  tlierefore  recommend,  though  at  the  risk  705 

Of  popular  disgust,  yet  boldly  still, 
The  cause'  of  piety  and  sacred  truth, 
4nd  virtue,  and  those  scenes  which  God  ordaitt'd 
Should  best  secure  them,  and  promote  them  nMst; 
Scenes  that  I  love,  and  with  regret  perceive  710 

Forsaken,  or  through  folly  not  enjoyed, 
fure  is  the  nymph,  though  lib'ral  of  her  smilesy 
And  chaste,  though  unconfin'd,  whom  I  eztoL 
Not  as  the  prince  in  Shuslian,  when  he  called, 
Vain-glorious  of  her  charms,  his  Vashti  forth,        715 
To  grace  the  full  pavilion.    His  design 
Was  but  to  boast  his  own  pocmliar  goody 
Which  all  might  view  with  envy,  ncme  partake. 
My  charmer  is  not  mine  alone ;  my  sweets^ 
And  she  that  sweetens  all  my  bitters  too,  790 

Nature,  enchanting  Nature,  in  whose  fonn 
•Ahd  lineaments  divine  I  trace  a  hand 
That  errs  not,  and  find  raptures  still  renew'd, 
ts  free  to  all  men — universal  prize. 
Strange  that  so  fait  a  creature  should  yet  want       795 
Adrairers,  and  be  de&Mn'd  to  divide 
With  meaner  obiccts  fe*en  the  few  she  finds !   - 


n  THE  tASK. 

Stripped  of  her  oifnaments,  her  leaves  and  fltfvrVty 
She  l(me§  ftU  her  iiifiuetioe.    QJifif^theH 
Attract  U8,  uid  negketed  NaUire  pines  739 

AEandon'd  as  unwortKy  of  our  love. 
Bat  are  not  wholesome  airs,  4boiigfh  UBpei>fiun*4 
By  roses ;  and  oleiwr  swfis,  though  sca^pcely  felt. 
And  groves,  if  unharmonioms,  yet  seevre 
From  clamour,  and  whose  verysikiiee  chums  j     738 
To  be  preferred  to  smoke,  to  the  eoUpso, 
That  metropolitan  voteaaoss  make, 
Whose  Stygian  throats  hi««the  darhoeis  all  day  Joi^r ; 
And  to  the  stir  of  Commeres,  dririag  slowi 
And  thuBd'rmg  loud,  with  Um  too  tfaovsand  wiiecik? 
They  would  be,  were  not  madness  hi  the  head^       741 
•  And  folly  in  the  heart ;  were  England  no«r. 
What  Englaad  wlui,  plain,  hospitable,  Jsini), 
And  undebauch'd.    Bat  we  havo  bid  fiunewefi 
To  all  the  virtues  of  those  bettor  days,        *  7U 

And  all  their  honest  pleasoMS.    MiaskMUonoa  . 
Know  thfir  own  masters ;  and  labomms  hindi^ 
Who  had  survived  the  fkther,  servVl  the  son. 
Now,  the  legitimate  and  rightful  locd    . 
Is  but  a  transient  guest,  nowly  arrived,  95§ 

And  soon  to  be  sapplantsd.    He  that  saar 
His  patrimonial  timber  cast  its  leaf, 
Sells  the  last  scantling,  and  transfers  the  price 
To  some  shrewd  sharper,  ere  it  buds  again. 
Estates  aii  landsoapee,  gaz*d  upon  a  while,  786 

Then  advertis'd,  and  auotiones^ Hi  away. 
The  country  starves,  and  they  that  feed  th'  o'eceiharg'd 
And  surfeited  lewd  town  with  iier  &ii  d'jMi, 
By  a  just  judgment  strip  and  starve  tliemsslvea. 
The  wings  that  waft  our  riches  out  of  sight,  7C0. 

Grow  on  the  gamester's  elbows,  ar^d  the  alert 
And  nimble  motion  of  those  rcyst^ess- joints, 
That  never  tire,  soon  fans  them  all  iway. 
Improvement,  too,  the  idol  of  tho  a  re, 
is  ted  with  many  a  victim.     Lo,  he  somes !  966 


THE  GARDEN.  .78 

Th*  omhipototit  ma^cian,  Brown,  appears ! 
Down  falls  the  venerable  pile,  th*  abode 
Of  our  forefathers — a  grave  whi8ker*d  raee. 
But  tasteless.    Springs  a  palace  in  its  stead, 
But  in  a  distant  spot ;  where  moi'e  ezpos'd  77$ 

It  may  enjoy  th*  advantage  of  the  north, 
And  aguish  east,  till  time  shall  have  transform'd 
^hose  nabed  acres  to  a  shelt*ring  grove. 
Ho  speaks.    The  lake  in  front  becomes  a  lawn ; 
Woods  vanish,  hills  sabside,  and  valleys  rise  775 

And  streazBs,  as  if  created  for  his  use, 
Pursue  the  track  of  his  directing  wand, 
Sinuous  or  straight,  now  rapid  and  ncnUr  stow, 
Now  murm*ring  soft,  now  roaring  in  cascades —    ' 
E'en  as  he  bids !  Th*  enraptured  owner  smites.        780 
Tis  finish*d,  and  yet,  finlsh'd  as  it  seems, 
Still  wants  a  grace,  the  loveliest  it  could  shoWi 
A  mine  to  satisfy  th'  enormous  eost. 
Drained  to  the  last  poor  item  of  his  wtf&tth. 
He  sighs,  departs,  and  leaves  th*  accomplish'd  plan  786 
That  ho  has  touch*d,  retouch'd,  many  a  long  day 
Laboured,  and  many  a  night  pursued  in  dreams. 
Just  when  it  meets  his  hopes,  and  proves  the  Heav*n 
He  wanted,  for  a  wealthier  to  enjoy ! 
And  now  perhaps  the*gIorious  hour  is  come,  790 

When,  having  no  stake  left,  no  pledge  t*  endear, 
Her  int*rests,  or  that  gives  her  Sacred  cause 
A  moment's  operation  on  his  love,  * 

He  burns  with  most  intense  and  flagrant  veal  . 
To  serve  his  country.    Ministerial  grace  796 

Deals  him  out  money  frofti  the  publlck  chest ; 
Or,  if  that  mine  be  shut,  some  private  purs6 
Supplies  his  need  with  a  usurious  loan, 
To  be  refunded  duly,  when  his  vote 
Well-manag'd  shall  have  earn*d  its  worthy  price.   800 
O  innocent,  compared  with  arts  like  these. 
Crape,  and  cock'd  pistol,  and  the  whistling  ball 
Sent  through  the  trav'Uer'a  temples '  He  that  findi 
Vol.  IL  7 


U  THE  TASK. 

One  drop  of  Hoav'n's  sweet  mercy  in  his  cup. 

Can  dig,  beg,  rot,  and  perish,  well  content,  805 

So  he  may  wrap  himself  in  honest  rags 

At  his  last  gasp  ;  but  could  not  for  a  world 

Fish  up  his  dirty  and  dependent  bread 

From  pools  and  ditches  of  the  commonwealth, 

Sordid  and  sick'ning  at  his  own  success.  blO 

Ambition,  avarice,  penury,  incurr'd 
By  endless  riot,  vanity,  the  lust 
Of  pleasure  and  variety,  despatch 
As  duly  as  the  swallows  disappear, 
Tho  world  of  wand'ring  knights  and  squires  to  town 
Loudon  ingulfs  them  all !  The  shark  is  there,         816 
And  the  shark's  prey ;  the  spendthrift,  and  the  leech 
THat  sucks  him  *  there  the  sycophant,  and  ho 
Who,  with  bareheaded  and  obsequious  bows, 
Begs  a  warm  office,  doomed  to  a  cold  jail  -     820 

And  groat  per  diem,  if  his  patron  frown. 
The  levee  swarms,  as  if  in  golden  pdmp 
Were  cjiaracter'd  on  ev'ry  statesman's  door, 
"  Battered  and  bankrupt  fortunes  mended  Iiere.* 
These  are  the  charms  that  sully  and  eclipse  *  825 

The  charms  of  nature.    *Tis  the  cruel  gripe, 
That  lean,  hard-handed  Poverty  inflicts, 
The  hope  of  better  things,  the  (;hance  to  win. 
The  wish  to  shine,  tho  thirst  to  be  amus'd, 
That  at  the  sound  of  Winter's  hoary  wing  830 

Unpeople  all  our  countries  of  such  herds 
Of  flutt'ring^  loit'ring,  cringing,  begging,  loo8e» 
And  wanton  vagrants,  as  make  London,  vast 
And  boundless  as  it  is,  a  crowded  coop. 

O  thou  resort  and  mart  of  all  the  earth,  835 

Checker'd  with  all  complexions  of.  mankind. 
And  spotted  with  till  crimes ;  ia-W,hom  I  sgg 
Jkjuch^  thatllove^  and  more  that  ^  a^diyifre^. 
And  all  that!  ajhor  ;  thou  freckled  fair, 
niat'pleasest.  and  yet  shock'st  me  !  I  can  laagli,     840 
Ami  I  can  weep,  can  hope  and  can  de3pond 


THE  GARDEN.  11 

feel  wrath  and  pity,  when  I  think  on  thee  ? 
Ten  righteous  would  have  sav'd  a  city  once, 
And  thou  hast  many  righteous. — ^Well  for  thee— 
That  salt  preserves  thee ;  more  corrupted  else,      845 
And  therefore  more  obnoxious,  at  this  hour. 
Than  Sodom  in  her  day  had  pow*r  to  be^ 
**or  whom  <3od  he«rd  his  Abr*limm  plead  ia  \ 


THE  TASK. 


THE  WINTER  EVENING 


ARGUMENT  OF  THE  FOURTH  BOOK. 

Iho  pott  comet  in — TM  newspaper  is  read — The  World  eonteoH 
plated  at  a  distance — Address  to  Winter — The  rural  aniasementJ 
of  a  winter  evening  compared  with  the  fashionable  ones—Ad- 
dress to  evening:— A  brown  study— Fall  of  snow  in  the  evening— 
The  wagoner — A  poor  family  piece — The  rural  thief— Rublick 
houso»-?rhe  multitude  of  them  censured— The  farmer^s  daugh- 
ter :  what  she  was,- what  she  is— The  simplicity  of  country 
manners  almost  lost — Causer  of  the  change— Desertion  of  th« 
country  by  the  rich— Neglect  of  the  magistrates— The  militia  prin-  • 
cipally  in  fault — The  now  recruit  and  his  transformatioo-^Re- 
flection  on  bodies  corporate — ^The  love  of  rural  objects  natural  to 
all,  and  never  to  be  totail/  extinguished. 


HARK  !  'lis  tlie  twanging  horn  o*er  yondej^ bridge. 

That  with  its  wcajisomo  but  needful  length 

Bestrides  the  wintry  flood ;  in  which  the  moon 

Sees  her  unwrinkled  face  reflected  bright  :-^ 

He  comes,  tlie  herald  of  a  noisy  world,  t 

With  spattcr'd  boots,  strapped  waist,  and  frozen  locksi 

News  from  all  nations  lumb'ring  at  his  back. 

True  to  his  charge,  the  close-pack 'd  load  behind, 

Vet  careless  what  he  brings,  his  one  concern 

Is  to  conduct  it  to  the  destin'd  inn ;  Id 

And  having  dropp'd  th'  expected  bag,  pass  on. 

He  whistles  as  he  goes,  liglit-hearted  wretch- 


THE,  WINTER  EVENING.  77 

Cold  and  yet  cheerful :  messenger  of  grief 
Perhaps  to  thousands,  and  of  joy  to  some ; 
To  him  mdiff*rent  whether  grief  or  joy.  15 

Houses  in  ashes,  and  the  fall  of  stocks, 
Births,  deaths,  and  marriages,  epistles  wet 
With  tears,  that  trickled  down  tiie  writer's  cmeks 
Fast  as  the  periods  firom  his  fluent  quill. 
Or  charg'd  with  am'rous  sighs  of  absent  swains,      80 
Or  nymphs  responsiTO,  eipially  .affect 
Hia  hdrse  and  him,  unconscious  of  them  nSL 
But  O,  th*  important  bodget  I  ushered  in 
With  snch  heart-shaking  nrasick,  who  can  say 
What  are  its  tidings  ?  have  our  trooptf  awakM  ?       2& 
Or  do  they  still,  as  if  with  opium  drugged. 
Snore  to  the  murmurs  of  th'  AtlanUck  wave 
Is  India  free  ?  and  does  she  wear  her  plum'd 
And  jewePd  turban  with  a  smile  of  peace, 
Or  do  we  grind  her  still  ?  The  grand  debate,  80 

The  populaf  harangue,  the  tart  reply. 
The  logick,  and  the  wisdom,  and  the  wit, 
And  the  loud  laugh — ^I  long  to  know  them  all ; 
I  bum  to  set  th'  impcison'd  wranglers  free. 
And  give  them  voice  and  utt'rance  once  again.         36 

Eow  stir  the  fire,  and  close  the  shutters  ftst, 
fall  the  curtains,  wheel  the  sofa  rounds 
And,  while  the  bubbling  and  loud-hissing  ura 
Throws  np  a  steamy  column,  and  the  cups. 
That  cheer  but  not  inebriate,  wait  on  each, 
So  let  us  welcome  peaceful  ev'ning  in. 
Not  such  his  ev*iung,  who  with  shining  fiice 
Sweats  in  the  crowded  theatre,  and,  squeez'd 
And  bor'd  with  elbow  points  through  both  his  sides, 
Outscolds  the  ranting  actoc  on  the  stage :  41 

Nor  his,  who  patient  stands  till  his  feet  throb, 
And  his  head  thumps,  to  feed  upon  the  breath 
Of  patriots,  bursting  with  heroick'  rkgo, 
Or  placemen,  all  tranquillity  and  smile» 
This  foUo  of  four  pages  happy  work ! 
7* 


1 


78  THfelTASK       , 

Which  not  e'en  chtieks  criticise  ;  that  ii»ldft 
Inquisitive  attention,  ^vhile  I  lead, 
Fast  bound  in  chains  of  silence,  which  the  fiiir, 
Though  eloquent  tliemselves»  yet  ieav  to  bf«ak ; 
What  is  it,  but  a  map  of  busy  life,,  5§ 

Its  fluctuations^  and  its  'vast  concerns  P 
Hero  runs  the  roountainovs  and  craggy  ridge. 
That  tempts  Ambition.    On  the  sumnul  sea  - 
The  seals  of  office  glitter  in  his  ioyes ; 
He  climbs,  he  pants,  he  grasps  them i  At  hbhaals  60^ 
Close  at  his  hesls,  a  demagogQAAaeeDde, 
And  with  a  dext'rotts  jerk  soon  twists  lun  dotmi^ 
And  wins  them,  but  to  loaa  them  in  itia  two. 
Here  rills  of  oily  eloquence,  in  soft 
Meanders  Uibticate  the  course  th^  UkB^  6& 

The  modest  speaker  is.aUian'd  and  griev^ 
T'  engross  a  moment's  notice ;  and  yet  begs, 
Begs  a  propitious  ear  for  his  poor  thenghts^ 
However  trivial,  all  that  he  concoires. 
Sweet  bashfulness ;  it  clairas  at  least  this  psake :     79 
The  dearth  of  information  and  good  aeose 
That  it  foretejls  us  always  comes  to  pass^ 
Cataracts  of  declamation  tlmnder  hfi^re  $ 
There  forests  of  no  meaning  spread  Ihe  pagey  • 

In  which  all  comprehenoon  waaders^  loot  y  9fr  • 

W141e  fields  of  pleasantry  amuse  us  there 
Wifli  merry  descants  on  a  nation'e  woes^ 
The  rest  appears  &  wilderness  of  straAge- 
Bnt  gay  confusion ;  roses  for  tha  cheeks^ 
And  lilies  for  the  brows  of  faded  age,  80' 

Teeth  for  t^e  toothless,,  ringlets  for  the  bald> 
Heav'n,  earth,  and  ocean,  plundered  of  their  sweets^ 
Nectareous  essences,  Olympian  dews, 
Sermons,  and  city  feastsy  and  &v*rite  airs, 
Ethereal  journeys,  submarine  exploits,  fS' 

And  Katterfelto,  wlUi  his  hair  on  end 
At  his  own  wonders,  wond'ring  for  his  bread. 
Tis  pleasant,  through  the  loopholes  oi  retreat, 


J 


THE. WINTER  EVENING. 

79 

^^        To  peep  al  such  a  world  ;  to  see  the  stir 

\         or  the  great  Babel,  and  not  feel  the  crowd ; 

M 

To  hear  the  roar  she  sends  through  all  her  gate* 

At  a  safe  distance,  where  the  dying  soond 

Falls  a  soft  murmur  on  th'  uninjor'd  ear. 

Thus  sitting,  and  surveying  thus  at  ease 

The  globe  and  its  concerns,  I  seem  advano'd 

il& 

To  some  secure  and  more  than  mortal  height. 

That  liberates  and  exerapU  me  from  them  aU. 

It.  turns  submitted  to  mj  view,  turns  roimd 

With  all  its  generations ;  I  behold 

The  tumult,  and  am  stilL    The  sound  of  war 

100 

Has  lost  its  terrours  ere  it  reaches  me";     -^ 

Grieyes,  but  alarms  me  not.    I  mourn  the  pride 

And  av'jice  that  make  man  a  w<^  to  man ', 

Hear  the  faint  echo  of  those  brazen  throats, 

By  which  he  speaks  the  language  of  his  heailf 

ii» 

And  sigh,  but  never  tremble  at  the  sound* 

He  travels  and  expatiates,  as  the  bee 

From  flow'r  te  flow'r,  so  he  from  land  to  land  } 

Pay  Gontributt(»&  to  the  store  he  gleans;. 

UO 

He  sucks  intelligence  in  ev*ry  cUmey 

And  spreads  the  honey  of  his  deep  research 

At  his  return— 4  rich  repast  for  me* 

He  tcavels,  and  I  too.    I  tread  his  deck. 

'**  Ascend  his  topmast  through  his. peering  eye* 

1th 

Discover  counti^ififf,  with  a  kindred  heart 

Sufier  his  woes,  and  share  in  his  escapes ; 

While  fancy,  like  the  finger  of  a  clock, 

Runs  the  great  circuit,  and  is  still  at  iKHoae  , 

0  Winter,  ruler  of  th'  inverted  year, 

lao 

1             Thy  scattered  h&ir  with  sleet  like  ashes  fill'd. 

'  Thy  breath  congeal'd  upon  thy  lips,  thy  cheeks 

Fring'd  with  a  Ijeard  made  white  with  other  soows 

Thau  those  of  age,  thy  forehead  wrapp'd  in  cknids. 

A  leafless  branch  thy  scepire,  and  thy  thrrnie 

id& 

A  sliding,  car,  indebted  to  no  wheels^ 

Itaic:^^, -      -^ — 

90  THK  TASK. 

But  urg'd  by  storms  along  its  slipp'ry  way, 

I  love  thee,  all  unlovely  as  thou  seem'st, 

And  dreaded  aa  thou  art !  Thou  hold'st  the  Bun 

A  prisoner  in  the  yet  nndawning  east,  130 

Short'ning  his  journey  between  morn  and  noony 

And  hurrying  him,  impatient  of  his  stay, 

Down  to  the  rosy  west :  but  kindly  still 

Compensating  his  loss  with  added  hours 

Of  social  converse  and  instructive  ease,  138 

And  gathering,  at  short  notice,  in  cme  group  - 

The  family  dispersed,  and  fixing  thought, 

Not  less  dispers'd  by  daylight  and  its  cares. 

I  crown  thee  king  of  intimate  delights. 

Fireside  enjoyments,  homeborn  h^piness,  140 

And  all  the  comforts  that  the  lowly  roof. 

Of  undisturbed  Retirement,  and  the  hours 

Of  long,  uninterrupted  ev'ning  know. 

No  rattling  wheels  stop  short  before  these  gates » 

No  powder'd  port  proficient  in  the  art  145 

Of  sounding  an  alarm,  assaults  those  doors 

Till  the  street  rings ;  no  stationary  steeds 

Cough  their  own  knell,  while,  heedless  of  the  sound, 

The  silent  circle  fan  themselves,  and  quake  ; 

But  here  the  needle  plies  its  busy  task,  150 

The  pattern  grows,  the  well-depicted  flow'r, 

Wrought  patiently  into  the  snowy  lawn, 

Unfolds  its  bosom ;  buds,  and  leaves,  and  ^rigs, 

And  curling  tendrils,  gratefully  disposed, 

Follow  the  nimble  finger  of  the  fidr ;  IS6 

A  wreath,  that  cannot  fade,  or  flow'rs  that  blow 

With  most  success  when  all  besides  decay. 

The  poet's  or  historian's  page  by  one 

Made  vocal  for  th'  amusement  of  the  rest :  159 

The  sprightly  lyre,  whose  treasure  of  sweet  sounds 

The  touch  from  many  a  trembling  chord  shakes  out : 

And  the  dear  voice  symphonious,  yet  distinety 

And  in  the  charming  strife  triumphant  still. 

Beguile  the  night,  and  set  a  keener  edge 


THE  WINTER  EVENING.  81 

On  femalo  industry  *  tlie  threaded  steel  165 

Flies  swiftly,  and  unfelt  the  tusk  proceeds. 
The  volume  elos'd,  the  eustomary  rites 
Of  the  last  meal  commence.    A  Roman  meal: 
Such  as  the  mistress  of  the  world  once  found 
Deliciotks,  when  her  patriots  of  high  note,  170 

Perhaps  by  moonlight,  at  their  humble  doon, 
And  under  an  old  oak's  domestick  shade, 
£njoy*d,  spare  feast !  a  radish  and  an  egg» 
Discourse  ensues,  not  trivial,  yet  not  dull, 
Nor  such  as  with  a.  frown  forbids  the  play  17ft 

Of  fancy,  or  proscribes  the  sound  of  mirth : 
Nor  do  we  madly,  like  an  impious  World, 
Who  deem  religion  frenzy,  and  the  God 
That  made  them  an  intruder  on  their  joys,    ' 
Start  at  his  awful  name,  or  deem. his  praise  180 

A  jar'i'ing  note.  Thenjes  of  a  graver  tone* 
Exciting  oft  our  gratitude  and  love,  ' 

While  we  retrace  with  Mem'ry's  pointing  wtnd^ 
That  calls  the  past  to  our  exact  review. 
The  dangers  we  have  *scaped,  the  broken  snare,     185 
The  disappointed  foe,  deliverance  found 
Unlook'd'for,  life  preserr'd,  and  peace  restored— 
Fruits  of  omnipotent  eternal  love. 
O  evenings  worthy  of  the  gods!  exclaim*d  • 
The  Sabine  bard.    O  evenings,  I  reply,  190 

More  to  be  priz'd  and  coveted  than  yours. 
As  more  illumined,  And  with  nobler  truths. 
That  I,  and  mine,  and  those  we  love,  enjoy. 

Is  Winter  hideous  in  a  garb  like  this  ? 
Needs  he  the  tragick  fur,  the  smoke  of  lamps,        106 
The  pent-up  breatli  of  on  unsav'ry  throng, 
To  thaw  him- into  feeling,  or  the  smart 
'  And  snappisli  dialogue,  that  flippant  wits 
Call  comedy,  to  prompt  him  with  a  smile  f 
The  self-complacent  actor,  when  ho  views  800 

(Stealing  a  sidelong  glance  at  a  full  house) 
The  slope  of  faces,  from  the  floor  to  th'  roof 


82  THE  TASK. 

(Ab  if  one  master  spring  controird  them  aB,) 

Relax'd  into  a  universal  grin, 

Sees  not  a  counfnonce  there,  that  speaks  of  joy     908 

Ha]f  so  refined  or  so  sincere  as  ours. 

Cards  were  superfluous  here,  with  all  the  tricks 

That  idleness  has  ever  jet  contrived 

To  fill  the  void  of  an  unfiimish'd  brain, 

To  palliate  dulness,  and  give  time  a  shove.  810 

Time,  as  he  passes  us,  has  a  dovo*s  wing, 

Uhsoil*d,  and  swifl,  and  of  a  silken  sound  ; 

But  the  world's  Time  is  Time  in  masquerade  ! 

Theirs,  should  I  paint  him,  has  his  pinions  fledged. 

With  motley  plumes ;  and  where  the  peacock  shows 

His  azure  eyes,  is  tinctur'd  black  and  red  216 

With  spots  quadrangular  of  diamond  form, 

Ensanguin'd  hearts,  clubs  typical  of  strife, 

And  spades,  the  emblem  of  untimely  graves. 

What  should  be,  and  what  was  an  hourglass  once,  220 

Becomes  a  dicebox,  and  a  billiard  mace 

WeU  does  the  work  of  his  destructive  sithe. 

Thus  dock'd,  he  charms  a  World  whom  Fashion  blinds 

To  his  true  worth,  most  plcasM  when  idle  most: 

Whose  only  happy,  are  their  idle  hours.  225* 

£*en  misses,  at  whose  age  their  mothers  wore 

The  backstring  and  the  bib,  assume  the  dress 

Of  womanhood,  sit  pupils  in  the  school 

Of  card  devoted  Time,  and,  night  by  night, 

Placed  at  some  vacant  corner  of  the  board,  830 

Learn  ev*ry  trick,  tmd  soon  play  dl  the  game. 

But  truce  with  censure.    Roving  as  I  rove, 

Where  shall  I  find  an  end,  or  how  proceed  ? 

As  he  that  travels  far  ofl  turns  aside. 

To  view  some  rugged  rock  or  nfouldVing  tow*r,     5S35 

Which  seen,  delights  him  not ;  then  coming  home 

Describes  and  prints  it,  that  the  world  may  know 

How  far  he  went  for  what  was  nothing  worth : 

So  I,  with  brush  in  hand  and  pallet  spread. 

With  colours  mix*d  for  a  far  diflTrent  use,  840 


THE  WINTER  EVENING.  83 

Paint  cards,  and  dolls,  and  ov'ry  idlo  thingr, 

.  Fancy  finds  in  her  excursive  flights. 

ome>  Ev'ningy  once  again,  season  of  peaM, 
^Return,  sweet  Evening,  and  continue  long ! 
Methinks  I  see  thee  in  the  streajcy  west, 
With  matron  step  slow-moving,  while  the  Night 
Treads  on  thy  sweeping  train ;  one  hand  employ'd 
In  letting  fall  the  curtain  of  repose 
On  bird  and  beast,  the  other  charg'd  for  man 
With  Bweet  oblivion  of  the  cares  of  day : 
Not  eamptuonslj  adom'd,  nor  needing  aid. 
Like  bomely-featur'd  Night,  of  clustering  gems , 
A  star  or  two,  just  twinkling  on  thy  brow, 
Boffices  thee  ',  save  that  the  moon  is  tliine 
No  less  than  hers,  not  w<Mm  indeed  on  high 
With  ostentatious  pageantry,  but  set 
With  modest  grandeur  in  thy  purple  zone, 

endent  leSB|  pii\  of  gn  ftmplflr  pimd. 

Come  then,  and  thou  shalt  find  thy  votary  calm, 

Or  make  me  so.    Composure  is  thy  gift ;  860 

And,  whether  I  devote  thy  gentle  hoars 

To  books,  to  musick,  or  the  poet's  toil ;  * 

To  weaving  nets  for  bird-alluring  fruit ; 

Or  twining  silken  threads  round  ivory  reels. 

When  they  command  whom  man  was  born  Xo  please ; 

I  slight  thee  not,  but  make  thee  welcome  still.        26C 

Just  when  our  drawing-rooms  begin  to  blaze 
With  lights,  by  clear  reflection  multiplied 
From  many  a  mirror^  in  which  he  of  Gath, 
Goliath,  might  have  seen  his  giant  bulk  270 

Whole  without  stooping,  tow'ring  erest  and  all, 
My  pleasures,  too,  begin.    But  me  perhaps 
The  glowing  hearth  may  satisfy  awhile 
With  faint  Ulumination,  that  uplifts 
The  shadows  to  the  ceiling,  there  by  fits  27S 

Oancing  uncouthly  to  the  quiv'ring  fiumo, 
Not  undellghtful  is  an  hour  to  me 
Bo  spout  in  parlour  twilight :  such  a  gloom  - 


le 

L ^ 


84  THE  TASK. 

Bolts  well  the  thoughtful  or  unthinking  mind. 

The  mind  contemplative,  with  some  new  tbem«  ^280 

Pregnantt  or  iikUi^'d  alike  to  all. 

Laugh  ye,  who  boast  your  more  mercurial  pew*n|      ^ 

That  never  feel  a  stupor,  know  no  pause, 

Nor  need  one ;  I  am  conscious,  and  confess 

Fearless,  a  soul  that  does  not  always  think.  98B     y^ 

Me  oil  has  Fancy,  ludicrous'and  wild,  ^l 

Sooth'd  with  a  waking  dream  of  houses,  tow*r%  ^ 

Trees,  churches,  and  strange  visages,  ezpreas'd 

In  the  red  cinders,  while  with  poring  eye 

I  gaz'd,  myself  creating  what  I  saw.  9Q0 

Nor  less  amus'd  have  I  quiescent  wotch'd 

The  sooty  films  that  play  upon  the  bars 

Pendulous,  and  foreboding  in  the  view 

Of  superstition,  prophesying  still. 

Though  still  deceived,  some  stranger's  neor  flppcoach. 

'TIS  thus  the  understanding  takes  repose  296      ^ 

In  inddent  vacuity  of  thought, 

And  sleeps,  and  is  refresh'd.    Meanwhile  the  fa^ 

Conceals  the  mood  lethargick  with  a  mask 

OC  deep  deliberation,  as  the  man  300 

Were  task'd  to  his  full  strength,  absorb'd  and  lest 

Thus  ofl,  reclined  at  ease,  I  lose  an  hour 

At  ev*ning,  till  at  length  the  freezing  blast 

That  sweeps  the  bolted  shutter,  summons  homo 

The  recollectnd  oow'rs  ;  and  sni^piiig  short  305 

Tlio  gkssy  t breads,  with  which  the  Fancy  weave* 

Her  brittle  toils,  restores  me  to  myself. 

How  calm  is  my  recess ;  said  how  the  frost, 

Raging  abroad,  and  the  rough  wii\d,  endear 

The  silence  and  the  warmth  enjoy*d  within  !  310 

1  saw  the  woods  and  fields  at  close  of  dayi 

A  variegated  show  ;  the  meadows  fcreen, 

Though  faded ;  and  the  lands,  where  lately  wav*4 

The  golden  harvest,  of  a  mellow  brown, 

Upturned  so  lately  by  the  forceful  share,  315 

I  saw  far  eff  the  weedy  fallows  smilo 


.    THE  WINTER  EVENING.  » 

With  yerdure  not  unprofitable,  grazed 
By  flocks,  fast  feeding,  and  selecting  each 
His  favorite  herb :  while  all  the  leafless  gtonet 
l*hat  skirt  th'  horizon  wore  a  sable  hoe,  99^ 

Scarce  noticed  in  the  kindred  duak  of  evew 
TooDiorrow  brings  a  change,  a  total  change  I 
Which  eyen  now,  though  silently  pericffinVly 
And  slowly,  and  by  most  nnfelt,  the  face 
Of  universal  nature  undergoes.  9MI 

Fagt&Hs  a  fleecjLJtboK'r :  tiie  downy  flakes 
0ewending,  and  with  neTer-ceasmg  lapse^ 
Soflly  alighting  upon  all  below> 
Assimilate  all  objects.    Earth  recervei 
Gladly  the  thick*ning  nuuitle  ;  and  the  green         890> 
And  tender  blade,  that  fear'd  tiie  chilling  Uastt 
Escapes  unhurt  beneath  so  warm  a  veil. 

In  soofa  a  world,  so  thorny,  and  whtore  noae 
Finds  happiness  unblighted,  or,  if  found, 
Without  some  thistly  sorrow  at  its  side;  335 

It  seems  the  part  of  wisdom,  and  no  sin ^ 
Against  the  law  of  love,  to  measure  lots 
With  less  distinguished  than  ourselves ;  that  thui     ^ 
We  may  with  patience  bear  our  moderate  ills, 
And  sympathize  with  others  sufTring  more.  840 

III  fares  the  trav*ll6r  now,  and  he  that  stalks 
In  pond'rous  boots  beside  bis  reeking  team 
The  wain  goes  heavily,  impeded  sore 
By  congregated  loads  adhering  close 
To  the  clogg'd  wheels ;  and  in  its  riuggi^  pace     345 
Noiseless  appears  a  moving  hill  of  snow. 
The  toiling  steeds  expand  the  nostril  wide. 
While  ev*ry  breath,  by  respiration  strong 
Forc*d  downward,  is  consolidated  soon 
Upon  their  jutting  chests.    He,  lbrm*d  to  bfar       850 
The  pelting  brunt  of  the  tempestuous  mght, 
With  half  shut  eyes,  and  puckered  cheeks,  and  tettK    ' 
Presented  bare  against  the  storm,  plods  on. 
One  hand  secures  his  hat,  save  when  with  b^th 

Vol.  n.  8 


86  THE  TASK, 

lie  orandishes  his  pliant  length  of  whip,  868 

Resounding  oft,  and  never  heard  in  Tain. 
O  happy ;  and  in  my  account  denied 
That  sensibility  of  pain  with  which 
Refinement  is  endu'd,  thrice  happy  thou ! 
Thy  frame,  robust  and  hardy,  feels  indeed  360 

The  piercing  cold,  but  feels  it  unimpaired. 
The  leam'd  finger  never  need  explore 
Thy  vig'rous  pidse ;  and  the  unheathful  euBt, 
That  breathes  the  spleen,  and  searches  ev'ry  bono 
,  Of  the  infirm,  is  whoiesomo  air  to  thee.  865 

Thy  days  roll  on  exempt  from  household  care ; 
Thy  wagonjs  thjr_3d£3i ;  and  the  poor  beasts, 
That  drag  the  dull  companion  to  and  fro. 
Thine  helpless  charge,  dependent  on  thy  care. 
Ah,  treat  them  kindly  ;  rude  as  thou  appear'st,      370 
Tet  show  that  thou  hast  mercy !  which  the  gceat, 
With  needless  hurry  whirled  firom  place  to  pkce^ 
Humane  as  they  would  seem,  not  alwajrs  show. 

Poor,  yet  industrious,  modest,  quiet,  neat, ' 
Such  claim  compassion  in  a  night  like  this,  376 

And  have  a  friend  in  ev'ry  feeling  heart. 
Warm*d,  while  it  lasts,  by  labour,  aU  day  long 
They  brave  the  season,  and  yet  find  at  eve^ 
111  clad,  and  fed  but  sparely,  time  to  CfioL 
The  frugal  housewife  trembles  when  she  lights       380 
Her  scanty  stock  of  brushwood  blazing  clear, 
But  dying  soon,  like  all  terrestrial  joys. 
The  few  small  embers  left  she  nurses  well  \ 
And,  while  her  in&nt  race,  with  outq»read  hands 
And  crowded  knees,  sit  cowering  o*er  the  sparks,   385 
Retires,  content  to  quake,  so  they  be  warm'd. 
The  man  feels  least,  as  more  inur'd  thiui  aha . 
To  winter,  and  the  current  in  his  veins 
More  briskly  mov'd  by  his  severer  toil; 
Yet  he  too  finds  his  own  distress  in  theirs.  890 

The  taper  soon  extinguished,  which  1  saw 
Dangled  along  at  the  cold  finger'a  end 


THE  WINTER  EVENING.  87 

Just  when  the  day  decHn'd :  and  the  brown  loaf 
Lodg'd  on  the  shelf  half  eaten  without  sauce 
Of  say'ry  cheese,  or  butter,  costlier  still ;  39S 

Sleep  seems  their  only  refuge  :  for,' alas ! 
Where  penury  is  felt  the  thou^t  is  cfaain'd, 
And  sweet  colloquial  pleasures  are  but  few  ! 
With  all  this  thrift  tbey  thrive  not.    All  tlio  care, 
Ingenious  Parsimony  takes,  but  just  400 

Saves  the  small  inventory,  bed>  and  stool. 
Skillet,  and  old  carv'd  chest,  from  publick  sale. 
They  live,  and  live  without  extorted  alms 
From  grudging  hands :  but  other  boast  have  none, 
To  sooth  their  honest  pride,  that  scorns  to  beg,       405 
Nor  comfort  else,  but  in  their  mutual  love. 
I  praise  you  much,  ye  meek  and  patient  pair, 
For  yo  are  worthy ;  choosing  rather  far 
A  dry  but  independent  crust,  hard  eam'd, 
And  efttea  vn&i  a  sigh,  than  to  endure  410 

The  rugged  frowns  and  insolent  rebuff 
Of  knaves  in  office,  partial  in  the  work 
Of  distribution ;  libVal  of  their  aid 
To  clam'rous  Importumt;y  in  rags. 
But  ofttimes  deaf  to  suppliants,  who  would  blush  415 
To  wear  a  tatter'd  garb,  however  coarse, 
Whom  famine  cannot  reconcile  to  filth : 
These  ask  with  painfbl  shyness,  and,  refbs'd 
Because  deserving,  silently  retire  ! 
But  be  ye  of  good  courage !  Time  itself  420 

Shall  much  befriend  you.    Time  shall  give  increase ; 
And  all  your  numerous  progeny,  well  train'd, 
But  helpless,  in  few  years  shall  find  their  hands, 
And  labour  too.    Meanwhile  ye  shall  not  want 
What,  conscious  of  your  virtues,  we  can  spare,     4S5 
Nor  what  a  wealthier  than  ourselves  may  send. 
I  mean  the  man,  who,  when  the  distant  poor 
Need  help,  denies  them  nothing  but  his  name. 
But  poverty  with  most,  who  whimper  forth 
Their  long  complaints,  is  self-inflicted  wo ; .  430' 


68  THE  TASK. 

The  effect  of  laziness  or  sottish  waste. 
Now  goes  tlic  nightly  tjiiefprowling  alroad 
For  plunder ;  much  soUcifotis  how  best 
Ho  may  compensafte  for  a  day  of  doth 
By  works  of  darkness  and  nocturnal  wrong.  43S 

Wo  to  the  gardener's  pale,  the  ^mer's  hedge, 
Plash'd  neatly,  and  secor'd  with  driyen  stakes 
Deep  in  the  loamy  batik.    Uptom  by  strengtliy 
Resistless  in  8o  bad  a  cause,  but  lame 
To  better  deeds,  he  bundles  up  the  spoili  .  4lt 

An  ass's  burden,  and,  when  laden  most 
And  heaviest,  light  of  foot,  steals  fast  away 
Nor  does  thb  bordered  hovel  better  guard 
The  ^ell-stack'd  pile  of  riven  logs  and  roots 
From  his  pernicious  force.    Nor  will  he  leave        44& 
Unwrench'd  the  door,  however  well  secur'd^  * 
Where  Chanticleer  amidst  his  haram  sleeps 
In  unsuspecting  pomp.    Twitoh'd  from  the  porcli, 
He  gives  the  princely  bird,  with  all  his  wives, 
To  his  voracious  bag,  struggling  in  vain,  450 

And  loudly  wondering  at  the  sudden  change. 
Nor  this  to  feed  his  own.    Twere  some  exevsi 
Did  pity  of  their  sufferings  warp  aside 
His  principle,  and  tempt  him  into  sin 
For  tlieir  support,  so  destitute.    But  they  46S 

Neglected,  pine  at  home  ;  themselves,  as'  more 
Expos'd  than  others,  with  less  scruple  made 
His  victims,  robb*d  of  their  defenceless  all. 
Cruel  is  all  he  does.    Tis  quenchless  thixft 
Of  ruinous  ebriety,  that  prompts  460 

(lis  ev'ry  action,  and  imbrutes  the  Qian. 
O  for  a  law  to  noose  the  villain's  neck 
Who  starves  his  own  ;  who  persecutes  the  blood 
He  gave  thom  in  his  children's  veins,  and  liates 
And  wrongs  the  woman  he  has  sworn  to  love !        465 
Pass  where  wo  may,  through  city  or  tlirsugk  toWBy 
Village  or  hamlet,  of  this  merry  land, 
Though  lean  and  beggared,  every  twentieth  paee 


THE  WINTER  EVENING.  9^ 

Conducts  th'  unguarded  nose  to  such  a  whiff 
Of  stale  debauch,  forth-issuing  from  the  sties         479 
That  law  has  licensed,  as  makes  Temp'rance  reel. 
There  sit,  involved  and  lost  in  curling  clouds 
Of  Indian  fume,  and  guzzling  deep,  the  boor, 
The  lackey,  and  the  groom  ;  the  craflstnan  there 
Takes  a  Lethean  leave  of  all  his  toil  ;  47S 

Smith,  cobbler,  joiner,  he  that  plies  the  shears, 
And  he  that  kneads  the  dough ;  all  loud  alike, 
All  learned  and  all  drunk !  the  fiddle  screams 
PlaintiTe  and  piteous,  as  it  wept  and  wail'd 
Its  wasted  tones  and  harmony  unheard,  480 

Fierce  the  dispute,  whato*er  the  theme ;  while  she, 
Fell  Discord,  arbitress  of  such  debate, 
Perch'd  on  the  signpost,  holds  with  even  hand 
Her  undacituve  scales.    In  this  she  lays 
A  weight  of  ignorance ;  in  that,  of  pride }  485 

And  smiles  delighted  with  the  eternal  poise. 
Dire  is  the  frequent  curse,  and  its  twin  sound, 
The  cheek  distending  oath,  not  to  be  pnus'd 
As  ornamental,  musical,  polite. 

Like  those  which  modem  senators  employ,  490 

Whose  oath  is  rhet'rick,  and  who  swear  for  fame ! 
Behold  the  schools,  in  which  plebeian  minds, 
Once  simple,  are  initiated  in  ar^ 
Which  some  may  practise  with  politer  grace, 
But  none  with  readier  skill ! — 'Tis  here  they  loera 
The  road  that  leads  firom  coimifiteace  and  peace     496 
To  indigence  and  rapine  ;  till  at  last  ^ 

Society,  grown  weary  of  the  load. 
Shakes  her  encumber'd  lap,  and  casts  them  out 
But  censure  profits  little ;  vain  th*  attempt  500 

To  advertise  in  verse  a  publick  pest, 
That,  like  the  filth  with  which  the  peasant  feeds 
His  himgry  acres,  stinks,  and  is  of  use. 
Th*  excise  is  fatten'd  with  the  rich  result 
Of  all  this  riot ;  and  ten  thousand  casks,  606 

For  ever  dribbling  out  their  baso  contents, 
8» 


-7^ 


(v^ 


=*lti 


90  .    THE  TASK. 

Touched  bj  the  Midas  finger  of  the  state. 

Bleed  gold  for  mmisters  to  sport  away. 

Drink,  and  be  mad  then  ;  .*tis  your  country  bide ! 

Gloriously  drunk,  obey  th*  unportant  calll  616 

Her  cause  demands  th*  assistance  of  your  throtlv  } 

Te  all  can  swallow,  and  she  asks  no  moM. 

Would  I  had  fall'n  upon  those  h^ffier^dayi 
That  poets  celebrate ;  those  golden  times. 
And  those  Arcadian  scenes  that  Maro  sings,  51A 

And  Sidney,  warbler  of  poetick  prose.* 
Nymphs  were  Dianas  then,  and  swains  had  heaxkf 
That  felt  their  virtues :  Innocence,  it  seems, 
From  courts  dismissed,  found  shelter  in  the  graves  , 
The  footsteps  of  simplicity,  impressed  1320 

Upon  the  yielding  herbage,  (so  the^,  <ung*) 
Then  were  not  aU  efiac'd ;  then  speech  profane^ 
And  manners  profligate,  were  rarely  found, 
Observ'd^as  prodigies,  and  soon  reclaim*d. 
Vain  wish !  those  days  were  never ;  airy  droAms  535 
Sat  for  the  picture  :  and  the  poet's  hand, 
Imparting  substance  to  an  empty  sh^de. 
Imposed  a. gay  delirium  for  a  truth. 
Grant  it :  I  still  must  envy  them  an  age 
That  favoured  such  a  dream :  in  daya  like  thote     590 
Impossible  when  Virtue  is  so  scarce. 
That  to  i^p|»ose  a  scene  ^here  she  presides 
Is  tramontane,  and  stumbles  all  belief 
No :  we  are  polish'd  now.    The  rural  lass, 
Whom  once  her  virgin  modesty  and  grace,  535 

Her  artless  manners,  and  her  neat  attire. 
So  dignified,  that  she  was  hardly  less 
Than  the  fair  shepherdess  of  old  romance, 
^s  seen  no  more.     The  character  is  lost  1 
Her  head,  adorn'd  with  lappets  pinn'd  alofl,  549 

And  ribands  streaming  gay,  superbly  raised. 
And  magnified  beyond  all  human  size, 
Indebted  to  some  smart  wig-weaver's  hand 
Tor  more  than  lialf  the  tresses  it  sustains : 


J 


THE  WINTER  EVENING.  91 

Her  elbows  ruiHed,  and  her  tott'ring  form  915 

in  propped  npoQ  French  heels ;  she  might  be  6amm*d 
(Bat  that  the  luisket  dangting^  on  her  arm 
Interprets  her  more  truly)  of  a  rank 
Too  prond  for  dairy  work,  or  sale  of  egg» — 
Expect  her  soon  with  footboy  at  her  heels,  S50 

No  longer  blushing  fbr  her  awkward  Itad, 
Her  train  and  her  umbrella  aU  her  care ! 

^  \  The  town  has  ting*d  the  country  ;  and  the  staiii 
Appears  a  spot  upon  a  vestal Vi  robe, 
The  worse  for  what  it  soils.    The  fkshlon  runs      665 
Down  into  scenes  stili  rund ;  but,  alas, 
Scenes  rarely  grac'd  with  rural  manners  now ! 
Time  was  when  in  the  pastoral  retreat 
Th'  unguarded  door  was  safe ;  men  did  not  wmtch 
T'  mvade  another's  right,  or  guard  their  own.         660 
Then  sleep  was  undisturb*d  by  fear,  unscar'd 
By  drunken  howHngs ;  and  the  chilling  tale 
Of  midnight  murder  was  a  wonder  heard 
With  doubtful  credit,  toM  to  fHghten  babes.^ 
But  farewell  now  tc  unsuspicious  nights,  665 

And  slumbers  unalarm*d !  Now,  ere  you  deept  * 

•  See  that  your  polished  arms  be  prim*d  with  care, 
And  drop  the  night-bolt ; — ruffians  are  abroad ; 
And  the  first  larum  of  the  cock's  i^rill  threat 
May  prove  a  trumpet,  summoning  your  ear  576 

To  horrid  sounds  of  hostile  feet  within.  « 

£*^  daylight  hak  its  dangers ;  and  the  walk 
Through  patliless  wastes  emd  woods,  unconscious  <MiOft 
Of  other  tenants  than  melodious  birds. 
Or'  harmless  flocks,  is  hazardous  and  bold.  675 

Lamented  change  !  to  which  full  many  a  cause    . 
Invet'rate,  hopeless  of  a  cure,  consph^s. 
The  course  of  human  things  from  good  to  81, 
From  ill  to  worse,  is  fatal,  never  fails. 
Incrense  of  pow'r  begets  increase  of  wealth ;         660 
Wealth  luxury,  and  luxury  excess : 
Excess,  the  scrofblous  and  itchy  plague, 


92  THE  TASK. 

Thai  BcizeB  first  the.  opulent,  descends 

To  the  next  rank  contagious,  and  in  time 

Taints  downward  all  tlie  graduated  scale  68ft 

Of  order,  firom  the  chariot  to  the  plough. 

The  rich,  and  they  that  have  an  arm  to  chcick 

The  license  of  the  lowest  in  degree, 

Desert  their  office ;  and  themselves,  intent 

On  pleasure,  haunt  the  capital,  and  thus  59Q 

To  all  the  violence  of  lawless  hands 

Resign  the  scenes  their  presence  miglit  protect. 

Authority  herself  not  seldom  sleeps, 

Though  resident,  and  witness  of  the  wrong. 

The  plump  convivial  parson  often  bears  (395 

The  magisterial  sword  in  vain,  and  lays 

His  rev'rence  and  his  worship  bot^  to  rest 

On  the  same  cushion  of  habitual  sloth. 

Perhaps  timidity  restrains  his  arm ; 

When  he  should  strike  he  trembles,  and  sets  freOt  600 

Himself  enslav'd  by  teitour  of  the  band — 

Th'  audacjous  convict  whom  he  dares  not  bind. 

Perhaps  though  by  profession  ghostly  pure,    ' 

He,  too,  may  have  his  vice,  and  sometimes  prove 

Less  dainty  than  beqomes  his  grave  outside  00^ 

In  lucrative  concerns.    Examine  well 

His  milk-white  hand ;  the  palm  is  harldly  cleait— 

But  here  and  there  an  ugly  smutch  appears. 

Foh  *^  'twas  a  bribe  that  left  it :  he  has  toach'd 

Corruption.    Whoso  seeks  an  audit  Jiere  610 

Propitious,  pays  his  tribute^  gaqne  or  fish, 

Wild  fowl  or  venison :  and  his  errand  speeds. 

fiut  faster  far,  and  more  than  all  the  rest, 
A  noble  cause,  which  none,  who  bears  a  spark 
Of  publick  virtue,  ever  wished  removed,  616 

Works  the  deplor'd  and  mischievous  efiect. 
Tis  universal  soldiership  has  stabb'd 
The  heart  of  merit  in  the  meaner  class.  -   . 

Arms,  through  the  vanity  and  brainless  ra^o 
Of  those  that  bear  them,  in  whatever  cause,  620 


1 


THE  WINTER  EVENING.  98 

Seem  most  at  variance  with  all  moral  good, 
And  incompatible  with  serious  thought. 
The  clown,  the  child  of  nature,  WithotK  guile, 
Blest  with  an  infant's  ignorance  of  all 
But  his  own  simple  pleasures ;  now  and  then  6^ 

A  wrestling  match,  a  fodt-race,  or  a  fair ; 
Is  balloted,  and  trehAtkeB  at  the  news : 
Sheepish  he  doffii  his  hat,  and  mumbling  swean 
A  bible  oalh  to  b^  n^iate^  they  i^oase, 
To  do  he  knows  not  what.    The  task  perferm*d     630 
That  instant  he  becomes  the  sergeant's  txu«. 
His  pupil,  and  his  torment,  and  his  jest. 
His  awkward  gak,  his  introverted  toes. 
Bent  knees,  round  i^oulders,  and  dejelbted  leoksj 
Procure  him  many  a  trurse.    By  slmv  degrees,        035 
Unapt  to  learn,  and  form VI  ef  stubborn  stutT,  ' 
H«  yet  by  slow  degrees  puts  off  himself, 
Grows  conscious  of  a  change,  and  likes  It  wefit 
He  stands  erect :  his  slouch  bexknnes  a  walk ; 
He  steps  right  onward,  ihartiai  in  his  Mr,  640 

His  form  and  morement ;  is  as  smart  above 
As  meal  and  larded  locks  can  make  him  ;  wears 
His  hat,  or  his  pimn'd  helmet,  with  ic  gratw  ; 
And,  his  three  years  of  lieroshtp  expired, 
Retume  indignant  to  the  flighted  plough.  645 

He  hates  the  field,  in  which  no  fite  or  drum 
Attends  him ;  drives  his  cattle  to  a  march ; 
And  sighs  for  the  smart  comrades  he  has  left. 
Twere  well  if  his  exterionr  chanf^e  were  ail- 
But  with  his  chimsy  port  ^le  wreteh  has  lost  650 
His  ignorance  and  narmless  manners  too. 
To  swear,  to  game,  to  drink  ;  to  show  at  home  . 
By  lewdness,  idleness,  and  sabbath  breach, 
The  great  proficiency  he  made  abroad ;  ' 
T*  astonish,  and  to  grieve  his  gazing  friends  ;         655 
To  break  some  maiden's  and  his  mother's  heart  t 
To  be  a  pest  where  he  was  useful  once ; 
Are  his  solo  aim,  and  all  his  glory,  now 


94  THE  TASK. 

Man  in  sociely  is  IiIlo  a  flow'r 
Blown  in  its  native  bed ;  'tis  there  al<Nio  09 

His  faculties,  expanded  in  full  bloom, 

^  Shine  out ;  there  only  reach  their  proper  ute* 
But  man,  associated  and  leagued  with  man 
By  regal  warrant  or  s^-join'd  bj  bond 
For  int'rest  sake,  or  swarming  into  'elans  66F 

Benoatu  one  head  for  purposes  of  war. 
Like  flow'rs  selected  from  the  rest,  and  bound 
And  bundled  close  to  fill  some  crowded  Tase, 
Fades  rapidly,  and,  by  compressbn  marr'dy 
Contracts  dc^em^t  not  to  be  endur'd.  671 

Hence  chartered  boroughs  are  such  pnblick  plagues 
And  burghers,  men  immaculate  perhaps 
In  all  their  private  functions,  once  combin'd« 
Become  a  loathsome  body,  only  fit 
For  dissolution,  hurtful  to  the  m&in.  GK 

Hence  merchants,  unimpeachable  of  sm 
Against  the  charities  of  domettick  life, 
Incorporated,  seetn  at  once  to  lose 
Their  nature  ;  and,  disclaiming  all  regard 

'  For  mercy  and  the  common  rights  of  nuui,  G60 

Build  Stories  wilh  blood,  condiicting  trade 
At  the  sword's  point,  and  dying  the  white  robe 
Of  innocent  commercial  Justice  red. 
Hence,  too,  the  field  of  glory,  as  the  world 
Misdeems  it,  dazzled  by  its  bright  array,  665 

With  all  its  majesty  of  thund'ring  pomp. 
Enchanting  musick,  and  immortal  wreaths, 
Is  but  a  school,  where  thoughtlessness  is  taught 
On  principle,  where  foppery  atones 
For  foUy,  gallantry  for  ev'ry  vice.  QM 

But  slighted  as  it  is,  and  by  the  great 
Abandon'd,  and,  which  still  I  moro  regret, 
Infected  with  the  manners  and  the  modes  ^ — 

It  know  not  once,  tho  country  winsjne-atiU. 
I  never  fram'd  a  wish,  or  forra'd  a  plan,  OOi 

That  flaiter'd  me  witli  hopes  of  earthly  blisi^ 


TTTT:  VriNTER  EVENING.  95 

/|ut  there  I  laid  the  scene.    There  early  strty'd 
My  fancy,  ere  yet  liberty  of  choice 
Had  found  me,  or  the  hope  of  bein^  fiMf. 
My  very  dreams  were  rural ;  rural  too  7B0 

The  first-bom  efforts  of  my  youthful  rnxmBf 
Sportive  and  jingling  her  poetick  bells, 
E«B0Cyet  her  ear  was  mistress  of  their  pow^ 
No  bard  could  please  me  but  whose  lyre  was  toA'4 
To  Nature's  pndses.    Heroes  and  tiisir  feats  .        706' 
Fatig^n'd  me,  never  weary  of  the  pipe 
Of  Tityrus,  assembling,  as  he  sang, 
The  rustiek  throng  beneath  his  filv'rxte  beedi. 
Then  Milton  had  indeed  a  poet's  charms  c 
New  to  my  taste,  his  Paradise  surpas^d  710 

The  struggUng  efforts  of  my  boyish  t<mgue 
To  speak  its  excellence.    I  danc'd  for  joy. 
I  marvell'd  much  that,  at  so  ripe  an  age 
As  twice  seven  years,  his  beauties  had  then  first 
Engag'd  my  wonder ;  and  admiring  still,  715 

And  still  admiring,  with  regret  soppoi^ 
The  joy  half  lost,  because  not  sooner  found. 
There,  too,  enamoor'd  of  the  Ufe  I  lov*d, 
Pathetick  in  its  praise,  in  its  pursuit  • 
Determin'd  and  possessing  it  at  last,  790 

With  tran^orts  such  as.fiivour'd  lovers  feel, 
1  studied,  priz'd,  and  wish'd  that  I  had  known. 
Ingenious  Cowley !  and,  though  now  reolaim'd 
By  modem  lights  £rom  on  erroneous  taste, 
I  cannot  but  laaiOBt  thy  ^lendid  wit  795 

Entangled  in  the  eobwebs  of  the  schools. 
I  stm  revere  thee,  courtly  though  retir'd ; 
!^0ugh  stretch'd  at  ease  in  Chertsey's  i^ent  bow*n. 
Not  unemploy'd ;  and  finding  rich  amends 
For  a  lost  world  in  solitude  and  verse.  730 

Tis  bom  with  all :  the  love  of  Nature's  w<»ks 
Is  an  ingredient  in  the  compound  man, 
lafbs'd  at  the  creation  of  the  kind. 
And,  though  th'  Almighty  Maker  has  throughout 


At  THK  TASK. 

DiscciiDinated  each  (fom  each,  by  stroke*  798"- 

And  touches  of  his  Imnd,  with  so  mueh  ait 
Diversified,  thai  two  were  never  found) 
Twins  at  all  point**— yet  this  obtains  in  all 
That  all  diflpHOLa  beaalj^iftjMs. works, 
And  all  can  taste,  them :  minds  that  have  beett  ^niill  ' 
And  tutor'd  vHk  a  relish  more  eza^,  TtA' 

But  Done  witjout  some  reHsh,  none  unmov'd. 
It  is  a  flame,  that  diea  not  even  there, 
Where  ntothing  feeds  it :  ■  neither  'hostness,  erew^ 
Nor  habits  of  Tuxurioua  city  life,  70 

Whatever  eh»  they  smother  of  tmr  iivvitil 
In  human  bosoms^  jquench  at  or  ahatet 
The  villas,,  with  which  London  standa  beftirf^ 
Like  a  swarth  Indian.  wiUi  his  belt  4>f  bead* 
Prove  it.    A  breath  of  unadultrate  air-  '7^ 

The  glimpse  of  a^green  pasture,  how  tfaeyfcMyeT' 
The  citizen,  and  brace  his  languid  iia^iei 
S'fH  in  the  stifitng  booom  of  the  town: 
A  g(U[dfin?  in  whifth  nothiiig  thriiEes,.  hagcfawmit 
That  sooth  the  rich  possosaer  ;  m]ich.oQn8ol*>dy       7SS' 
'  That  here  and  there  some  sprigs iof  wuBundvl^ttaM' 
Of  nightshade,  or  valeriaik^  grace  the  w«U 
He  cultivates.    Tl)««e  serve  him.witk  a.hink 
That  Nature  livee;  that  sight-refreshiiqp  gnma 
Is  still  the  liv'ry  slie  delights  to  wear^  7^0 

Though  sickly  san^s  of  tb*  oxidi'raiit  whole*.    - 
What  are  the  oasemenie  linkl  witk  creepiBg  1 
Tkfi  prouder  sash^  frented  witkA  tsagB: 
Of  orange,  myrtle^  os  the  fragitaitimead; 
The  Frenchman's  darling?*  are  they  tmt all  ] 
TItat  man,  immur'd  in  cites,  still  rel&iBSi  706' 

His  inborn  inextinguishable  thirst 
Of  rural  scenes,  oompeasatii^.  Ills  l<aM ' 
By  supplemental  shifU,  the  beat  ho  may  ? 
The  most  unfurnish'd  with  the  means  of  lifi>>  T7E 

And  they,  that  never  pass  their  bcick-wall  hoimde^ 
*  Mignioaette. 


THE  WINTER  EVENING.  VfT 

Te  range  thB  fields^  and  treat  their  lungs  witn  air, 
Yet  fool  tLie  burning  instinct  ;  over  head 
Suspehd  their  crStiy-  hoses  planted  thick. 
And  water'd  duljr.   ^here.the  piteh«r  stands  775 

A  fragment,  and  the*  spoutless  teapot  there ; 
Sad  witnesses  how  close-pent  man  regrets 
The  country,  with  what  ardour  ho  contrivet 
A  peep  at  Nature,  when  he  can  no  more.       '       ->^ 
'     Hail,  therefore,  patroness  of  health  and  easejk  /vdO 
And  contemplation,  heart^consoliiig  joys,  v^^ 

And  harmlc^  pleasures  in:  the  thiong*d  abode     ^^ 
Of  multitidas  unknown !  bail,  rural  lifej  \ 

Address  himself  ygm>  will  to  tlie  puxsuiT'  ^^ 

Of  honours,  or  emolument,  or  fame  ;  785 

I  shall  not  add  myself  to  such  a  chase, 
Thwart  his  attempts,-  or  envy  his  success. 
Borne  nMMt  be  great.    Great  offices  wfll  have 
Great  talents.    And  God  gives  to  ev'ry  man 
The  Tirttie,  temper,  understanding,  taste,     ^        't^O 
That  UAs.hiin  into  life^  and  lets  him  fall  ^ 
Jvsl^in'  the  niche  he  was  ordain'd  to  fltl. 
To  .Uv>  4eUv*rer  of  an  injor'd  land 
He  gives  a  tongue  t'  enlarge  upon,  a  heart 
To  £ael,:and  courage 4o  redress,  her  wrongs;  71)5 

To  monarefas  dignity ;  to  judges  sense ; 
To  artists  ingenuity  and  skill ; 
To.nie,  an-unaml^ous  miad,  content 
In  the  low  Tale  of  Hfe,  that  ewrly  fdt 
A  wish  for  esM  And  kunre,  and  ere  long 
Found  here  that  leisure  and  that^^Me  I  wi^'d. 
Vol.  II.  9 


800 


THE  TASK. 


BOOKT 


THE  WINTER  MORNI^JG  WALK. 


A^UMENT  OF  THE  FIFTH  BOOK. 
tk  ftwtr  inomin*— Tho  foddoring  of  cattle— The  woodmta  uii 
hia  dog— The  poultry— Whimsical  effectsof  a  frost  at  a  v^tertall 
—The  enmreas  of  Rustia's"  palace  of  ice— Amuwemeiits  <^  «o« 
■arehfr-toVar,  one  of  them— Wart,  whence— And  whence  mo- 
narchy-^he  evils  of  it— English  and  French  loyalty  contra«ted 
—The  Bastik),  and  a  prisoner  there— Lilwty  the  chJef  '^^^'■^ 
Hiendation  of  this  country — Modern  patriotism  questionftUe, 
iuhI  why— The  perishable  nature  of  the  best  human  institoti<^ 
—Spiritual  liberty  not  perishable— The  slavish  stat*  of  ««»«"  ^T 
nature— Deliver  him,  Deist,  if  you  can— Grace  must  do  |f— -T^ 
res|H}ctive  merits  of  patriots  and  martyrs  stated- Their  dimnat 
treatment— Happv  freedom  of  tlio  man  whom  rrace  makes  froo-- 
His  iclish  of  the  Works  of  God— Address  to  the  Creator. 

TIS  morning ;  and  the  sun,  with  ruddy  orb 

Ascending,  fires  th'  horizon ;  wh^e  the  ckmds 

That  crowd  away  before  the  driving  wind, 

More  ardent  as  the  disk  emerges  more, 

Resemble  most  some  city  in  a  blaze,  5 

Seen  through  the  leafless  wood.    His  slanting  ray 

Slides  ineffectual  down  the  snowy  vale, 

And,  tinging  all  with  his  own  rosy  hue, 

From  ev'ry  herb  and  ev'ry  spiry  blade 

Stretches  a  length  of  shadow  o*er  the  field.  !• 

Mine  spindling  into  longitude  immense, 

In  spite  of  gravity^  and  sage  remark 


THE  WINTER  MORNING  WALK.        99 
rimt  I  mys^f  am  bat  a  fleeting  shade, 
Provokes  me  to  a  smiio.    With  eye  askance. 
I  view  the  muscular  pFoportion'd  limb  IS 

Transform'd  to  a  lean  sliank.    The  shapeless  palri 
As  tney  designed  to  mock  mo,  at  my  tide, 
Take  step  for  step  ;  and,  as  I  near  approach 
The  cottage,  walk  along  the  plastered  wall, 
PreportYous  sight !  the  logs  without  the  man.  90 

The  verdure  of  the  plain  lies  buried  deep 
Beneath  the  dazzling  deluge  ;  and  the  bents, 
And  coarfier  ^rass,  upspearing  o'er  the  rest. 
Of  late  unsightly  and  unseen,  now'  shine 
Conspicuous,  and  in  bright  apparel  clad,  35 

And,  fiedg'd  with  icy  feathers,  nod  superb. 
'The' cattle  mourn  in  corners,  where  the  fence 
Screens  tliem,  and  seem  half  petrified  to  sleep 
In  unrecumbent  sadness.    There  they  wait 
,  Their  wanted  fodder ;  not  like  hungering  man, 
^  Fretful  if  unsupplied ;  but  silent,  meek. 

And  patient  of  the  slow-pac'd  swain's  delay. 
\  He  from  the  stack  carves  out  the  accustomed  load, 
j  Deep  plunging,  and  again  deep-plunging  oft, 
^    I  His  broad  keen  knife  into  the  solid  mass  ; 
n.    Smooth  as  a  wall  the  upright  remnant  stands, 
iV^    With  such  undeviating  and  oven  force 
Vl  J       He  severs  it  away ;  no  needless  care, 
y(  f         Jjcst  storm  should  overset  the  leaning  pile 
Deciduous,  or  its  own  unbalanced  weight. 
Forth  goes  the  woodman^  leaving  unconcem*d 
The  cheerful  haunts  of  man  ;  to  wield  the  axe, 
And  drive  tlie  wedge,  in  yonder  forest  drear, 
I  From  morn  to  eve  his  solitary  task. 
I  ^haggy^  and  lean,  and  shrewd,  with  pointed  ears 
f  And  tail  cropp'd  short,  half  lurcher  and  half  cur — 
His  dog  attends  him.l  Close  behind  his  heel 

^w  creeps  hB  slow ;  and  now,  with  many  il  frisk 
Wide-scamp'ring,  snaiclies  up  the  drifted  snow 
With  iv'ry  teeth,  or  ploughs  it  with  his  snout  j         5t 


lyO  THE  TASK. 

Then  shakes  /lis  powdered  coat,  and  boikitfer  joy. 
Heedless  of  all  his  pranks,  the  sturdy  ehurl 
Moves  right  toward  the  mark ;  mor  stops  for  «iiglit«. 
But  now  and  then  with  pressure  of  his  thumb 
T'  adjust  the  fragrant  charge  of  a  short  tubey  IV 

That  fumes  baneath  his  nose  :  tho  traUuigicle«4 
Streams  far  behkul  him,  scenting  all  theaib 
.  New  from  the  roost,  or  &om  tho  neighboring  pid* 
Where  diligent  to  oateh  the  first  fiuat  gleam 
Of  smiling  day,  they  gossip'd  side  by  skid,  '     €0; 

Come  trooping  at  the  housewife's  well  kn^wtf  Obft 
The  featli^'d  tribes  domcstiok.    Uadf  on  wtag^ 
And  half  on  foot,  they  brush  the  fleecy  floods 
Conscious  and  fearful  of  too  deep  a  plunge. 
The  8g^c£J2F*  P^P)  <^<^  V^  ^^  shelt'ring  eftTQ%.  *  GS 
To  seize  the  fair  occasion  ;  well  they  eye 
The  scattered  grain,  and  tliievishly  resohr'd 
T*  escape  th'  impending  famine)  often  acnt*A  , 
As  oft  return — a  pert  voracious  kind. 
Chan  riddance  qiuokly  made,  one  only  case  W 

Remains  to  eaeh,  the  seurch  of  sonny  nook, 
Or  shed  impervious  to -the  blast.    Resigned 
T^  sad  necessity,  the  pfiSiL^®?^'^ 
His  wonted  strut ;  and,  wading  at  their  head 
With  well-consider'd  steps,  seems  to  resent  TBS- 

His  altcr'd  gait,  and  statelinessretrench'd. 
How  find  the  myriads,  that  in  summer  cheer 
The  hills  and  valleye  with  tbeur  ceaseless  Bong% 
Due  sustcmanoe,  or  where  subsist  they  now  ? 
Earth  yields  theia  nwight;  th'  imprisonVl  worm  is 
safe  88 

Beneath  the  frozen  clod ;  all  seeds  of  herbs 
Lie  covered  close  ;  and  berry-bearing  thorns. 
That  feed' the  thrush,  (whatever  some  8upp«ae^) 
Afford  the  smaller  minstrels  no  su|>pfy. 
The  long^protracted  rigout  of  the  year  B^ 

Thins  all  their  niim'cous  flocks.    In. chinks  amikelas 
Tea  thousand  seek  an  unmolested  end, 


»JI 


"r 


THE  WINTER  MORNING  WALK.       101 
A  J  instinct  prompts ;  self-barted  ere  thej  die. 
The  verj  rooks  and  daws  forsaite  the  fields, 
Where  neither  grob,  ner  root,  nor  earth  nnt,  now     9t 
Repays  their  labour  more ;  and  perch'd  aloft 
Bj  the  way-tide,  or  stalking  in  the  path, 
Lean  penmonere  upon  the  trav'ller^s  track. 
Pick  up  their  nauseous  dole,  though  sweet  to  them. 
Of  Toided  pulse  or  half-digested  grain.  96 

The  streams  are  lost  amid  the  splendid  blank, 
O'erwhelming  all  distinction.    On  the  flood| 
Indurated  and  fiz'd,  the  snowy  weight 
Lies  undissolved ;  while  silently  beneath, 
And  unperceiy'd,  the  current  ibeals  away.  IM 

Not  so  where,  scornful  of  a  cheek,  it  leaps 
The  m^ll-dam,  dashes  on  the  restless  wheel. 
And  wantons  m  the  pebbly  gulf  below : 
No  froet  can  bind  it  there :  its  utmost  force 
Can.  but  arrest  the  light  and  smoky  mist,     .  10ft 

That  in  its  fall  the  liouid  sheet  throws  wide. 
And  see  wJiere  it  has  hung  tlie  embroidered  banks 
With  forms  so  various,  that  no  pow'rs  <^  art. 
The  pencil,  or  the  pen,  may  trace  the  scene  ! 
Here  glitt'ring  turrets  rise, 'upbearing  high,  110 

(Fantastick  raisarrangement !)  on  the  ro<^ 
Large  growth  of  what  may  seem  the  sparkling  tMMM 
And  shrubs  of  fairy  land.    The  crystal  drope 
That  trickled  down  the  branches,  fast  oengetFd, 
Shoot  into  pillars  of  peUuoid  length,  W^ 

And  prop  the  pile  they  but  adorn'd  bef<»e* 
Here  grotto  within  grotto  safe  defies 
The  sunbeam  ;  there,  emboss'd  and  fretted  wild, 
The  growing  wonder  takes  a  thousand  shapes 
£lapricions,  in  which  fiinoy  seeks  in  vain  UW 

The  likeness  of  some  object'  seen  before. 
rhus  Natui^  works  as  if  to  mock  at  Art^ 
ind  in  oeHahce  of  her  rival  pow'rs ; 
By  these  fortuitous  and  ranjora  strokes 
Performing  such  inimitd»le  fsHito^  125 

9« 


tog  THE  TASK. 

As  she  with  «11  bcr  rules  can  never  roai^b. 

Less  worthy  of  applaussv  tiiough  more  admired* 

B«caus«  A^jioveltj,  the  work  of  man. 

Imperial  mistress  of  the  fur-clad  Ross,. 

Thy  most  magniieeat  aad  mighty  freak,  1^ 

The  wondexof  thft  Kogth*    No  forest  fell 

WhenTthou  wouldst  build;  no  quarry  sent  ita«tor«s, 

T'  enrich  thy  walls :  but  Uiou  didst  hew  tha  flood% 

And  make  th^  marbl^  of  the  gJhM^-wave.. 

In  such  a  palaoe  Arkteas  found  135 

Cyrene,  when  he  bore  the  plaintive  tal» 

Of  his  lost  bees  to  her  matumal  ears 

Inflacj^  a  palaoe  poetry  might  i^ace 

The  i^Ooury  of  Winter  ;  whero  his  tibc^ia, 

The  gloomy  clouds,  find  VFeapons,  arrowy  sloet       140 

Skin-piercing  volley,  blofisem-tMruising:  hail, 

And  snow,  that  odea  blinds  the  travllac'acoussa^r 

A»d  wraps  him.  in  an  unexpected  tom^b. 

Silently  as  a  dffeam  the  fabriek  rnse$* 

No  souBd:  of  haiMaer  or  of  saw  woA^'there  i  14& 

Ice  upon  ice,  th»  weU-adjusted  parts 

Were  soon  (mqtHn'd,  nev  oth^  cem^it  ask^d 

Tbia  water  inteifua'd^  to  make  tiiem  one. 

Lamps  gracefVidly  disposed,  and  of  all  lu^es^ 

niutBiaVl  ev'ry  i^e :  a  wat'ry  light  ISO 

Gleam'd  thfough  the  clear  transparency,  that  aoem'd 

Another  moon  new  ris*n,  or  meteor  fall'n 

Fnm  Heav*n  to  Eartn,  of  lambent  flame  serona  j 

So  stood  the  brittle  prodigy ;.  though  smooth 

And  slipp'ry  the  materials,  yet  frost-bound  ISbk  . 

Firm  as  a  lock*    Nor  wanted  aught  witiiin 

That  royal  residence  might  well  befit, 

Vm  grandeur  or  for  use.    Long  wavy  wreallift' 

Of  flowers  that  fear'd  no  enemy  but  warmth, 

I)lu8h*d  on  the  pianels.    I^rror  needed  none         VSI^    \ 

Where  all  was  vitreous  ;  but  in  order  due 

Convivial  table  aad  commodious  seat 

(What  seem'd  at  least  eemoKtctoi^  seat)  were  that #> 


^ 


199 


175 


THE  WINTER  MORNINO  WALK.      Itt 

Sofa,  and  coach^  and  high-built  throne  angniL 

The  same  lubricity  was  found  in  aU»  M 

And  all  waa  moiat  to  the  warm  toueh  >  a 

Of  evanescent  glory,  once  a  streamy 

Mti  soon  to  sUde  into  a  stream  again. 

Alas!  'twas  but  a  mortiijing  stroke 

Of  undesign'd  severitji  that  g'kne*d» 

(Made  by  a  monarch,)  on  her  own  estate. 

On  human  gyandear  and  the  courts  of  kiaga. 

Twas  transient  in  its  nature,  as  in  sheir 

Twas  durable ;  as  worthless,  as  it  seem*d 

Intrinsically  precious ;  to  the  loot 

Treacherous  and  false  ;  it  smil'd,  and  it 

Great  princes  have  great  play-things. 
play*d 

At  hewing  mountains  into  men,<and  some 
At  building  human  wonders  mountain-high. 
Some  have  amus*d  the  doU,  sad  years  of  lift,         ^ 
(Life  spent  in  indolence,  and  therelbre  sad,) 
With  schemes  of  monumental  fame>  and  aooght 
By  pyramids  and  mansoleaa  pomp, 
Short  liv'd  themselves,  t'  inunertalise  their  hooMk 
Some  seek  diwsion  in  the  tented  field,  185 

And  make  the  sorrows  of  manluod  their  spMi. 
Bat  war's  a  game,  which,  were  their  subfecta  wiee^ 
Kings  would  not  play  at.    Nations  woqU  do  wefl, 
T'  extort  their  tmnoheons  from  the  pwiy  hmdi 
Of  heroes,  whose  infirm  and  baby  minds  100 

Are  gratified  with  mischief;  and  who  spoils 
Beeause  men  suffer  it,  their  toy,  the  world. 

When  Babel  waaconlennded,  and  the  giaat 
Confed'racy  of  projectors  wild  and  vain 
Was  split  into  divefsity  of  tongoes^  IBS- 

Then,  as  a  shepherd  separates  his  flook, 
These  to  tha  ophmd;  to  the  yaUs^r  theee, 
QioA  drove  asunder,  ^od  assign'd  thehr  let 
To  all  tha  nationa.    Ample  waa  tJ 
He  gave  them,  in  its  dislnhatien  fidr 


|<M  ,        THi:  TASK. 

AnJ  equal  ;  and  he  hade  ihem  dwell  in  peace. 

Pcttcc  was  awhile  their  care  ;  they  ptotigh'dyaiideowld 

And  reaped  their  plentj  without  grudge  or  strife. 

But  violence  can  never  longer  slebp 

Than  human  passions  please.    In  every  heart         906 

Are  sown  the  sparks  that  kindle  fiery  war ; 

Ocoasion  needs  but  fan  them,  and  they  blaze. 

Cain  had  already  shed  a  brother's  blood : 

The  deluge  wash'd  it  out ;  but  left  unquencb'd 

The  seeds  of  murder  in  the  breast  of  man.  210 

Soon  by  a  righteous  judgment  in  the'  line 

Of  his  descending  progeny  was  found 

Tho  f\ig^  artificer  of  death  ;  the  shrewd 

OontriveV,  who  first  sweated  at  tlie  forge, 

And  forc'd  the  blunt  atid  yet  unbjoodied  steel  816 

To  a  keen  edge,  and  made  it  bright  for  war. 

Him,  Tubal  nam'd,  the  Vulcan  of  old  times, 

The  sword  and  £iIchion  their  inventor  claim ; 

And  the  first  smith  was  the  first  murderer's  ison. 

His  art  surviv'd  the  waters ;  and  ere  long,  210 

When  man  was  multiplied  and  spread  abroad 

In  tribes  and  clans,  and  had  begun  to  call 

These  meadows  and  that  range  of  hill^  his  own. 

The  tasted  sweets  of  property  begat 

Desire  of  more ;  and  inottstry  in  some,  S86 

T'  improve  and  cultivate  their  just  demesne, 

Made  others  covet  what  they  saw  fk>  fair. 

Thus  war  began*  on  Earth :  the^e  fought  for  spoDi 

And  those  in  self-defence.    Savage  at  first 

The  onset,  and  irregular.  '  At  length  890 

One  eminent  above  the  rest  for  strength, 

P*or  stratagem,  for  courage,  or  for  all, 

Was  chosen  leader ;  him  they  serVd  in  war, 

And  him  in  peace,  for  sake  of  warlike  deeds, 

Rev'renc'd  no  leas.    Who  could  with  him  compwr«  ? 

Or  who  so  worthy  to  control  themselves,  230 

As  he,  whose  prowess  Imd  vubdci'd  thdir  foe«  > 

Thus  war,  afiTordinff  field  fov  the  display 


J 


THE  WINTER  MORNING  ,WALK. 
Of  virtue,  made  one  cf^gf,  whom  times  of  peace. 
Which  have  their  exigencies  too,  and  call 
^or  skill  in  government,  at  lengtfa  made  king^ 
King;  was  a  name  too  proud  for  man  to  wear 
With  modestj  and  meekneis ;  and  the  orowQ 
So  dazzling  in  their  eyes,  who  set  it  on, 
Was  sure  t'  intoxicate  the  brows  it  bound 
It  is  the  abject  property  of  most, 
That,  being  parcel  of  tfa»  common  maas^ 
And  destitute  of  means  to  raise  tbemseiVM, 
They  sink^  and  settle  lower  than,  they  need* 
They  know  not  what  it  is  to  feel  within 
A -comprehensive  fiumlty,  that  grasps 
Great  purposes  wath  ease,  that  tvffns  and  ^R4^Ste| 
Almost  witheitl  an  effibrt^  plans  too  vast 
For  their  ooneeptioni  in^teh  they  camot  nofOb 
Conscious  of  impotMice  they  soon  grow  drank 
With  gazing,  when  th^  see  an  aUe  maa- 
3iep  forth  to  notice  r  and,  besotted  tfansy 
Bnild  hun  a  pedestal,  and  say,  ^  Stand  there, 
**  And  be  our  admiration  and  onr  praise.*' 
They  roll  themselves  before  him  in  the  dvsl^ 
Then  most  deserving  in  their  own  aoeoanti 
When  most  extravagant^  in  hta-appiaose, 
As  if,  exalting  him,  th^  rais^  theuiselroa 
Thus  by  degrees,  selfrdiealed  cf  their  soomI 
And  sober  judgment,  that  be  is  bnt  man, 
They  ^egoiHleigt,  and  fume  him  so, 
That  in  due  season  he  forgets  it  too. 
Inflated  and  astrut  with  self  conceit, 
He  grulps  the  windy  diet;  and  ere  long^ 
Adopting  their  mistalw,  profoundly  Uaaks 
Tlie  world  was  made  in  vninv  if  not  for  hinu 
Tkenceforth  tU«y.  sre  hie  cattle ;  drudfe%  beni* 
To  bear  his  burdMia,  drawing  ih  his  gears^ 
And  sweating  in  his  serviee,  his  oaprkse 
Becomes  the  soul  that  animates  them  aJL 
He  deems  a  tbottsand,  or  ten  thousand  lives. 


MO 


245 


fM 


9I» 


m  THE  T.VSK. 

Spent  iu  ihc  purchase  of  renown  for  him, 

An  easy  rcck'nutg :  and  they  think  the  i 

Thus  kings  were  ilrst  invented,  and  thus  kings 

Were  burnished  into  heroes,. and  becjupe  288 

The  ajrbij££^  of  this  terraqueoos  swamp ; 

Storks  among  frogs,  that  have  bat  orook'd  and  died 

Strtogo,  that  such  folly,  as  lifls  bk>ated  man 

To  eminence,  fit  only  for  a  god, 

SUould  ever  drivel  out  of  human  lips,  98S 

E'en  in  the  cradled  weakness  of  the  world  ! 

Still  stranger  much,  that,  when  at  length  mankmd 

Had  reached  the  sinewy  firmness  of  their  youth. 

And  could  discriminate  and  argue  well 

On  subjects  m<Nre  mysterious,  they  were  yet  S90 

Babes  in  the  cause  of  freedom,  and  should  ifoar 

And  qual^e  before  the  gods-themsehres  bad  ma/i  i 

But  above  measure  strange,  that  neither  proof 

Of  sad  oxperlence,  nor  examples  set 

By  some  whose  patriot  virtue  has  prevail'd;  39& 

Can  even  now^,  when  they  aro  grown  mature 

In  wisdom,  and  with  philosophick  deeds 

Familiar,  serve  t'  emanci£ato  the  rest  *. 

Such  dupes  are  men  to  custom,  and  so  prone 

To  reverence  what  is  ancient,  and  can  plead  300 

A  course  of  long  observance  tar  its  use,^ 

That  even  servitude,  tlje  worst  of  ills, 

Because  delivered  down  from  sire  to  son. 

Is  kept  and  guarded  as  a  sacred  thing. 

But  is  it  fit,  or  can  it  bear  the  shook  JD5 

Of  rational  discussion,  that  a  man. 

Compounded  and  made  up  like  other  men 

Of  elements  tumultuous,  in  whom  lust 

And  folly  in  as  ample  measure  meet 

As  in  the  bosoms  of  the  slaves  he  rules,  31# 

Should  be  a  despot  absolute,  and  boast 

Himself  the  only  freeman  of  his  land? 

Should,  when  be  pleases,,  and*  on  whom  he  will, 

Wage  war,  with  any  or  ^'xth  no  pretence 


f ' 


THE  WINTEE  MORNING  WALK.      lOT 
Of  provocation  gir'n,  or  wrong  tastain'd,  315 

And  force  the  beggarly  last  doit  by  meaM 
That  his  own  hnmour  dtetates,  from  the  dnlth 
Of  Poverty,  that  thvs  he  may  procure 
His  thousands,  weary  of  penurious  life, 
A  splendid  opportimity  to  die  ?  380 

Say  ye,  who  (with- less  prndence  than  of  old 
Jotham  ascrib'd  to  his  assembled  trees 
In  politick  convention)  put  your  trust  • 

r  th*  shadow  of  a  bramble,- and,  reclined 
In  fancied  peace  beneath  his  dang'roos  bnakcHh       38S^ 
Rejoice  in  him,  and  celebrate  his  sway» 
Where  find  ye  passive  fortitude  ?    Whence  epriiige 
Tour  self-denying  zeal,  thai£^  holds  it  good 
To  stroke  the  prickly  grievance,  and  to  hang 
His  thotns  with  streamets  of  continual  (waise  ?       380 
We  too  are  fi^BsdflLto  Uyalty.   We  love 
The  king  who  loves  the  law,  respects  his  bounds, 
And  reigns  content  within  them :  him  we  serve    ' 
Freely  and  with  delight,  who  leaves  us  fne : 
But  recollecting  still  that  he  is  man,  335 

We  ^^nat  him  not  too  far.    King  though  he  be. 
And  king  in  England  too,  he  may  bo  weak 
And  vain  enough  to  be  ambitious  rtill ; 
May  exercise  amiss  his  proper  powers, 
Or  covet  more  than  freemen  cl)oose  to  grant  *        310 
Boydnd  that  mark  is  treason.    He  is  ovrs, 
T*  administer,  to  guard,  t'  adorn  the  state. 
But  not  to  warp  or  change  it.    We  aire  his. 
To  serve  him  nobly  in  the  common  cause, 
True  to  the  death  ;  but  not  to  be  his  slaves.  815 

Mark  now  the  difiTrence,  ye  that  boast  your  love 
Of  kings,  between  your  loyalty  and  ours. 
We  love  the  man  ;  the  paltry  pageant,  yoas 
We  the  chief  patron  of  the  commonwealth ; 
Tou,  the  regardless  author  of  its  woes:  SSO 

We,  for  the  sake  of  libert}!",  a  king ; 
Tou,  chains  and  bondage  for  a  tyrant*s  sake 


I 


^^^^— 


'406  TH£  TASK. 

ODttr  love  if  prineiple,  and  has  its  root 
In  reason ;  ta  j»ticiott8»  manly,  free ; 
Toon,  a  Uind  inatinoti  eMoakea  to  the  rod,  855 

And  licks  the  foot  that  tveadait  in  the  dvst. 
Were  kingship  aa  tme  trenaore  aait  aeaflMP^ 
ISierling,  and  worthy  of  a  wiae  maD*a  wiah, 
I  would  not  be  a  king^  to  be  belgacSl 
Causeless,  and  danb'd  with  nndiaeeming  pniaey    >  SfiO 
Where  love  is  mero.  attachment  to  the  thBona, 
Not  to  the  man  who  fiBa  ttaa  he  enght. 

Whoae  freedom  is  by  saffouiae^jaDdAt  wiil 
Of  a  superioury  be  is  never  free. 
WlipJiTe8,aadianotweaxy<^a.]ti8  .SK 

£zpoa*d  to  manadea,  defexrea  them  waU. 
The  stete  Uiat>atriTe8  for  Ittwrty,  UMngh  foiFd, 
>  And  fota'd  io^abandon  what  ahe  bravely  soifhly 
Deservea  at  least  apphiuae  for  her  attampt, 
And.pity  for  her  loaa.    Bat  that'toA  cause  330 

Not  often  miaacoeasful :  pow'r  naufpU 
Is  weakneaa  when  oppoa'd ;  censcioiia  of^wtong, 
^Tis  pusillanimous  and  prone  to  fli|^. 
But  slaves,  that  onoe  eonceive  the. {Rowing  thevghi 
Of  freedom,  in  that  hgiifijtftalf  poaaeaa  275 

All  that  the  c<mtest  calls  fpr ;  qiirit,  atrei^thy 
The  scorn  of  danger,  and  united  hearts  ; 
The  surest  presage  of  the  good  they  seek.* 

Then  shame  to  manhood,  and  opprobrieBS.iBQt0 
To  France  than  all  her  leases  and  defoat%  380 

Old  or  of  later  date,  by  aaa  or  land, 
Her  house  of  bondage,  worae  than  that  af  eld 
Which  God  aveng^  on  Fharaob-^^die  BagUls 
Te  horrid  iew'ra,  th'  abode  of  broken  heasta : 
Ye  dungeons,  and  ye  cagea  of  despair,  385 

That  monarohs  have  soj^ed  from  mge  to  age 

*  The  anthor  hopes  that  he  shall  not  be  censored  "tbr  un- 
necessary warmth  apou  So  interestia^  a  mi^etL  He  is 
aware,  that  it  is  become  almost  ^isluonable,  to  stigmaliae 
such  sentiments  as  no  belter  than  empty  declamation  ;  but  it 
is  an  in  symptom,  and  peculiar  to  modem  times. 


THE  WINTER  MORNING  WALK.      !(» 
With  miuick,  each  as  suits  their  sov'reigii  ea»— 
The  sighs  and  groans  of  miserable  men  ! 
There's  not  an  English  heart  that  would  not  leap 
To  hear  that  ye  were  ftlTn  at  last ;  to  know  90i 

That  e'en  enr  enemies,  so  oft  employM 
In  forging  chains  lor  ns,  themselves  were  free. 
For  he  who  values  Liberty ,  eonfinefl 
His  zeal  for  her  jMredominanee  witfaiii 
No  iHtfrowbevBds ;  her  cause  engages  him  SOI 

Wherever  pleaded.    Tis  the  cause  of  man. 
There  dm^  the  most  fbrlom  c^  human  kind, 
Immor'd  though  unacous'di  condemnM  untried, 
Cruelly  f^mr'd,  and  hopeless  of  escape. 
There,  Uke  the  visionary  emblem  seen  400 

By  him  of  Babylon,  tife  stands  a  stamp, 
And,  filleted  about  with  hoops  of  brass. 
Still  lives,  though  dl  his  {feasant  bought  are  gottd. 
To  count  the  hourJaQ.aad  expect  no  diange  ; 
And  ever  as  the  sullen  sound  is  heard,  405 

Still  to  reflect,^that,  though  a  joyless  note 
To  him  whose  moments  all  have  one  dtiU  pace, 
Ten  thousand  rovers  in  the  world  at  large 
Account  it  musidk ;  that  it  summons  some 
To  theatre,  or  jocund  feast,  or  baH ;  410 

The  wearied  hireling  finds  it  a  release 
From  labour ;  and  the  lover,  who  has  chid 
Its  long  delay,  febis  evVy  weteobie  stroke 
Upon  his  heart-elrings,  trembfing  with  defight-*- 


To  fly  for  refuge  from  distracting  thou^ 
To  such  amusements  as  ingenious  wo 
Contrives,  hard  shifting,  and  without  her  tools 
To  read  engraven  on  the  mouldy  walls, 
In  stagg'riog  types,  his  predecessor's  tale, 
A  sad  memorial,  asd  subjoin  his  own— 
To  turn  purveyor  to  an  overgorg'd 
And  bloated  spider,  till  the  pamperM  pest 
Is  made  familiar,  watches  his  approach, 
C^mos  at  his  oall,  and  serves  liim  for  a  friend-^ 
Vol.11  10 


419 


420 


119  THE  TASK. 

To  wear  out  timo  in  luunb'ring  to  and  fro  425 

The  studs  that  thick  emboss  his  iron  door ; 

Then  downward  and  then  upward,  then  asknt, 

And  then  alternate ;  with  a  sickly  hope 

By  dint  of  change  to  give  his  tasteless  task 

Some  relish ;  till  the  suro^  exactly  found  430 

In  all  directions,  he  begins  again — 

O  comfortless  existence !  hemm'd  around 

With  woes,  which  who  that  sufiers  would  n^  kneel 

And  beg  for  exil^  or  the  pangs  of  death  ? 

That  man  should  thus  encroach  on  fellow  mtAy      ^33 

Abridge  him  of  his  just  and  native  rights, 

Eradicate  him,  tear  him  from  his  hold 

Upon  th'  endearments  of  domestic  life 

And  social,  nip  his  ^uitfulness  and  use. 

And  doom  him  for  perha|>s  a  heedless  word  44$ 

To  barrenness,  and  solitude,  and  tears. 

Moves  indignation,  makes  the  name  of  king, 

(Of  king  whom  such  prerogative  can  please) 

As  dreadful  as  tlie  Manichean  god, 

Ador'd  through  fear,  strong  only  to  destroy.  441 

Tis  liberty  alone,  that  gives  the  flower 
Of  fleeting  life  its  lustre  and  perfume ; 
And  we  are  weeds  without  it    AU  constraint^ 
Except  what  wisdom  lays  on  evil  men. 
Is  evil :  hurts  the  faculties,  impedes  450 

Their  progress  in  the  road  of  science ;  blinds 
The  eyesight  of  Discovery ;  and  begets, 
In  those  that  suffer  it,  a  sordid  mind* 
Bestial,  a  meager  intellect,  unfit 
To  be  the  tenant  of  man's  noUe  fimn.  4S& 

Thee  therefore  still,  blameworU^  as  thou  art, 
With  all  thy  loss  of  empire,  and  though  sqnees'd 
By  publick  exigence,  till  annual  food 
Fails  for  the  craving  bunker  of  the  state. 
Thee  J  account  still  h?ippy,  and  the  chief  -  404 

Among  tho  nations,  seoing  thou  art  free ; 
My  native  nook  of  earth  I  Tliy  clime  is  riido. 


THfi  WINTER  MORNING  WALK.       Ill 
Replete  with  vapoars,  and  disposes  much 
All  kearts  to  sadness,  and  none  more  than  mine  t 
Thine  unaduHerate  manners  are  less  toft  465 

And  plausible  than.soetal  life  requires, 
And  thou  hast  need  of  discipline  and  art, 
To  give  thee  what  politer  France  recerref 
From  Nature's  bounty — that  humane  addroM. 
And  sweetness,  without  which  no  pleasure  is  4?0 

In  eonTerse,  either  starv'd  by  cold  reserve, 
Or  flush'd  by  fierce  dispute,  a  senseless  brawl. 
Yet,  beii^  f^,  I  love  thee :  for  the  sake 
Of  that  one  feature  can  be  well  (ontent, 
Disgrac'd  as  thou  hast  been,  poor  as  then  art,         475 
To  seek  no  sublunary  rest  bende. 
But  once  enslav'd,  farewell !  I  could  endure 
Chains  no  where  patiently ;  and  chains  at  home; 
Where  I  am  free  by  birthright,  not  at  alL 
Then  what  were  left  of  roughness  in  the  grain      485 
Of  British  natores,  wanting  its  excuse 
That  it  belongs  to  freemen,  would  disgust 
And  shodL  me.    I  shotild  then -with  double  pain 
Feel  all  the  rigotnr  of  thy  fickle  clime ; 
And,  if  I  must  bewail  tl^  blesnng  lost,  486 

For  which  our  Hampdens  and  our  Sidneys  bled, 
I  would  at  least  bewail  it  under  ddes 
ABlder,  among  a  people  less  austere ; 
In  scenes,  which  having  never  known  me  firee. 
Would  not  reproach  me  with  the  loss  I  felt.  490 

Do  I  forebode  impossible  events. 
And  tremble  at  vain  dreams  f  Heav*n  grant  I  may  t 
But  th'  age  of  virtuous  politicks  is  past. 
And  we  are  deep  in  that  of  cold  pretence. 
Patrick  are  grown  too  shrewd  to  be  sincere,  495 

And  we  too  ^ise  to  trust  them.    He  that  takes 
Deep  in  his  soft  credulity  the  stamp 
Designed  by  loud  deelaimers  on.  the  part 
Of  liberty,  (themselves  the  slaves  of  lust,) 
Tncurs  derision  for  his  easy  faith  50Q 


Its  THE  TASK. 

And  lack  of  knowledge,  and  with  cause  eikoagb . 
For  when  was  |mbUck  virtno  lo  be  founds 
Whore  private  was  not  ?  Can  ho  loTe  the  wkole^ 
Who  loves  no  part  ?  He  be  a  nation's  friend, 
Who  is  in  truth  the  friend  of  no  man  there  ?  60B 

Can  he  be  stranuous  in  hla  country's  oanse, 
Who  slights  the  charities,  for  whose  dear  sak* 
That  couatry,  if  at  all,  must  be  belov'd  i 

'Tis  therdfofre  r^iber  and  good  men  are  sad 
For  England^  glory)  seeing  it  wax  pale  51i 

And  sickly,  while  her  chamjnons  wear  their  hmxU 
&o  looge  to  p^sa^  d^ty,  that  no  brain 
Healthful  and  ondistnrb'd  by  factious  fumea. 
Can  dream  them  trusty  to  liie  gen'nd  weaL 
Such  were  they  not  (^  dd,  whose  tempered  bladM  519 
Dispdrs'd  the  idiackles  of  usurp'd  oonlrd, 
And  hew'd  them  link  from  link  ;  then  Albianls  wmm 
Were  sons  indeed ;  they  fdi  a  filial  heart 
Beat  high  within  them  at  a  mother's  wrong*) 
And,  shining  each  in  bis  domestiek  sphere,  GSQ 

Shone  brighter  still,  oaoe  call'd  to  publiek  ww. 
Tis  therefore  mamy,  whose  sequester'd  lot  , 
Forbids  their  interference,  looking  oa 
Anticipate  perforce  some  dire  event ', 
And  seeing  the  old  castte  of  the  stete,  •    £85 

That  promis'd  once  more  firmness,  so  asiaiifd^ 
That  all  its  tempest-beaten  turrets  shake. 
Stand  motionless  expectants  of  its  &11. 
All  has  its  date  below ;  the  fatal  hoer 
Was  rogistor*d  in  Hoav'n  ere  time  began.  83B 

We  turn  to  dust,  and  all  our  mightiest  workt 
Die  too :  the  deep  fbundations  that  we  lay. 
Time  ploughs  them  up,  and  not  a  trtaoe  remaink 
We  build  with  what  we  deem  eternal  roSk ; 
A  distant  age  a8k»  where  the  fiibrick  stood ;  63S 

And  in  the  dust,  sifted  and  searcfa'd  in  tain 
The  undiscoverable  secret  sleeps. 

But  there  is  yet  a  ]^fi£t$:,  unsung 


THE  WINTER  MORNING  WALK.       US 
By  poetSy  and  bj  senators  imprais'd, 
Which  monarohs  cannot  grant,  nor  all  tbo  pow*ni  510 
Of  Earth  and  Hell  confederate  take  away : 
A  liberty,  which  persecution,  firaud, 
Oppression,  prisons,  haye  no  pow'r  to  bind 
Which  whoso  tastes  can  be  enslaved  no  more. 
Tis  liberty  of  heart  doriy'd  from  Heay'n,  545 

Bought  with  his  blood,  who  gave  it  to  mankiiid, 
And  sealed  with  the  same  token.    It  is  held 
By  charter,  and  that  charter  sanctioned  siire 
By  th'  unimpeachable  and  awfid  oath 
And  promise  of  a  God.    Hia  other  giftf  &50 

An  bear  the  rojral  stamp  that  speaks  them  hiiy 
And  are  angnst !  but  this  transcends  them  alL 
^His  other  works,  the  Yisible  display 
Of  all-creating  energy  and  might, 
Are  grand,  no  doobt,  and  worthy  of  the  word         666 
That,  finding  an  interminable  space 
Unoccupied,  has  fill*d  the  void  so  wel), 
And  made  so  sparkling  what  was  dariL  before. 
Bat  these  are  not  his  glory.    Man,  'tis  tr«e> 
Smit  with  the  beauty  of  so  fair  a  scene,  600 

Might  wen  suppose  th'  artificer  divine 
Meant  it  eternal,  had  he  .not  himself  ^ 
Pronounc'd  it  transient,  glorious  as  ^  is, 
And,  stiU  designing  a  more  glorious  &i, 
Doom'd  it  as  insufficient  for  his  praise.  661 

These  thofrefore  are  occasional,  and  pass ; 
Form'd  for  the  confutation  of  the  fool, 
Whose  lying  heart  disputes  against  a  -God ; 
That  office  served,  they  must  be  swept  away. 
Not  so  the  labours  of  his  love :  Uieyshino  570 

In  other  bea.]^  than  these  that  we  behold, 
And~&de^ot    There  is  FtfftdiMithat  fears  . 
No  forfeiture,  and  of  its  fruhshefiends  ' 
Large  prelibation  oil  to  saints  bel^w. 
Of  these  t^e  first  in  order,  and  the  pledge,  571 

\nd  confident  assurance  of  the  rest, 
10» 


114  TUK  MASK. 

fs  liberty  ;  a  flight  into  ins  arms, 

Ere  yet  mortality's  fine  threads  give  way, 

A  clear  escape  iiom  tyrannising  lost. 

And  full  immunity  from  penal  wo.  580 

Chains  are  the  portion  of  reyoltod  man, 
Stripes,  and  a  dungeon ;  and  his  body  serve* 
The  triple  purpose.    In  that  eicUy,  fouli 
Opprobrious  residence,  he  &»<fJi»  them  alK 
Propense  his  heart  to  idols,  he  is  held  66( 

In  idlly  dotage  on  created  things, 
Careless  of  their  Creator.    And  that  low 
And  sordid  gravitatioB  of  his  pow'ls 
To  a  vile  clod,  so  draws  him,  with  such  fi>i«ft 
Resistless  from  the  centre  he  shoold  seek^  600 

That  he  at  last  forgets  it.    All  his  hopes 
Tend  downward ;  his  ambitio9A  is  to  sink|  * 

To  reach  a  depth  profoonder  still,  and  stiU 
Profpunder,  in  the  fathiunless  abyss 
Of  folly,  plunging  in  pursuit  of  death.  60f 

But  ere  he  gain  the  comfortless  repose 
He  seeks,  and  aequiescence  of  his  soul 
In  Heav^n-renouttoiog  exile,  he  endures— 
What  does  he  not,  from  l«ttg  oppes'd  in  vun^ 
And  self-reproachingj^nafiiAnee  ?  He  foresees       600 
The  fatal  issue  to  his  health,  fame,  paaee^ 
Fortune,  and  dignity  ;  the  loss  of  all 
That  can  ennoble  man  and  make  frail  life* 
Short  as  it  is,  supportable.    Still  worse^ 
Far  worse  than  all  the  plagves  with  which  his  sns 
Infect  his  happiest  moments,  he  forbodes  000 

Ages  of  hopeless  mis'ry.    Future  death, 
And  death  still  future.    Not  a  hasty  stroke^ 
Like  that  wiiieh  sends  him  to  the  dusty  graw « 
But  unrepealable,  enduring,  death.  610 

Scripture  is  still  a  trumpet  to  his  fears : 
What  none  can  prove  a  forgery,  may  be  true , 
What  none  but  bad  men  wish  exploded,  nuist 
That  scruple  chocks  him.    Riot  is  not  loud 


—  ^- 


THE  WINTER  MORNING  WALK.      115 
Nor  drunk  enough  to  drown  it.    In  the  midst         615 
Of  laughter  his  companctiona  are  sincere ; 
And  he  abhors  the  jest  by  which  he  shine& 
Riwirorse  begets  reform^    His  ma^er-luat 
Fidls  first  before  his  resolute  rebuke. 
And  seems  dethron'd  and  vanquish'd.    Peace  ensues, 
But  spurious  and  s^jocliixld  :  the  puay  child  691 

Of  self -congratulating  Pride .  begot 
On  fancied  Innocence.    A^g^aJia^Uk^ 
And  fights  again ;  but  finds,  his  best  essay 
A  presage  ominous,  portending  still  696 

Its  own  diidionour  by  a  worse  relapse. 
Till  Nature,  unavailing  Nature,  foil'd 
So  oft,  and  wearied  in  the  vain  aUempt, 
Scofis  at  her  own  performance,    ^s^ukueumw 
Takes  part  with  appetite,  and  plM^Jhe  caasft       691^ 
Perversely,  which  of  late  she  so  condemn'd; 
With  shallow  shifts  uid  old  devices,  worn 
And  tatter'd  in  the  service  of  debauch, 
Ckiv'ring  his  shame  from  his  o£&nded  sight. 

''  Hath  God  indeed  giv'n  appetites  to  man,         699 
And  stored  the  earth  so  plenteously  with  means 
To  graUfy  the  hunger  of  his  wish ; 
And  dotii  he  reprobate,  and  will  he  damn 
The  use  of  his  own  bounty  ?  making  first 
So  frail  a  kind,  and  then  enacting  laws  <  619 

So  strict,  that  less  than  perfect  most  despair  ? 
Falsehood !  which  whose  but  suspects -of  troth^ 
Didionours  God,  and  makes  a  slave  of  man. 
Do  they  themselves,  who  undertake  fisr  hixs 
The  teadier's  office,  and  dispense  at  large  646 

Their  weekly  dole  of  edifying  strains, 
Attend  to  their  own  musick  ?  have  they  faith 
In  what,  with  such  solenmity  of  tone 
And  gesture,  they  propound  to  our  belief? 
Nay— Ckmduot  hath  the  loudest  tongue.    The  voioe 
Is  but  an  instrument,  on  which  the  priest  651 

May  play  what  tune  he  pleases.    In  the  deed, 


116  THfiTASK. 

The  unequivocal,  autheutiok  deed, 
We  find  sound  argument,  we  road  the  heart." 

Such  reas^mngs  (if  that  name  must  needs  belong 
T'  excuses  in  which  reason  has  no  part)  65d 

Serve  to  coin2ose  a  spirit  well  inclin'd 
To  tive  on  terms  of  amity  with  Ticoi 
And  sin  without  disturbance.    Often  urg*d, 
(As  often  as,  libidinous  dfttotmno  000 

Exhausted,  he  resets  to  solemn  themes 
Of  theological  and  grave  import,) 
Thej  gain  at  last  his  unreserr'd  assent ; 
Till,  hardened  his  heart's  temper  in  the  forge 
Of  lust,  and  on  the  anvil  of  despair,  GfA  * 

He  slights  the  strokes  of  conscience.    Nothing  moves, 
Or  nothing  much,  his  constancy  in  ill ; 
Vain  tamp'ring  has  but  foster'd  his  disease ; 
Tis  desp*rate,  and  he  sleeps  the  sleep  of  death- 
Haste,  now,  philosopher,  and  set  him  free.  670 
Charm  the  deaf  serpent  wisely.    Make  him  hear 
Of  rectitude  and  fitness,  moral  truth 
How  lovely,  and  the  moral  sense  how  sure, 
*  Consulted  and  obey*d,  to  guide  his  steps 
Directly  to  the^r^t  and  only  fair.                          675 
Spare  not  in  such  a  cause.    Spend  fall  the  pow'is 
Of  rant  and  rhapsody  in  virtue's  praise ; 
Be  most  sublimely  good,  verbosely  grand. 
And  with  poetick  trappings  grace  thy  prose, 
Till  it  out-mantle  all  the  pride  of  verse.—               680 
Ah,  tinkling  cymbal,  and  high  sounding  brass, 
Smitten  in  vain  !  such  musick  cannot  charm 
The  eclipse,  that  mtereepts  truth's  heav'nly  beam 
And  chills  and  darkens  a  wide  wandVing  soul. 
The  stUl  smaU  voice  is  wanted.    He  must  speak,  -  686 
Whose  word  leaps  forth  at  once  to  its  effect ; 
Who  calls  for  things  that  are  not,  and  they  come. 

Grace  makes  the  slave  a  fireeman.    Tis  a  change 
That  turns  to  ridicule  the  turgid  speech 
And  stately  tone  of  moraJists,  who  boast  -    OHf 


THE  WINTER  MORNING  WALK.       117 

As  if,  like  bim  of  fabulous  renown^ 
They  had  indeed  ability  to  smooth 
The  shag  of  savage  nature,  and  were  each 
An  Orpheus,  and  omnipotent  in  song , 
But  transformation  o£  apostate  man  606 

From  fool  to  wise,  from  earthly  to  diTise, 
Is  wnrlc  fcfj  Him  thnf  r^n^^  him.    He  aiondy 
And  he  by  means  in  philosophick  eyes 
Triyial  and  worthy  of  disdain,  achieve* 
Tlie  wonder ;  humanizing  what  is  bmte  700 

In  the  lost  kind,  extracting  from  the  lips 
Of  asps  their  ven<»n,  orerpow'ring  strength 
By  weakness,  and  hostility  bj  love. 
'  Patriots  Jiave  toiled,  aad,  in  their  couatry^s  eoose 
Bled  oobly  ;  and  their  deeds,  as  they  deserve,         70& 
Receive  prgu^jrecompense.    We  give  in  charge 
T&eir  names  to  the  sweet  lyre.    Th*  historick  muse. 
Proud  of  the  treasure,  marches  with  it  down- 
To  latest  times ;  and  Sculpture,  in  her  torn, 
Gives  bond  in  stone  and  ever*during  brass  710 

To  guard  them,  and  t'  immortalize  her  trust : 
But  fairer  wreaths  are  due,  though  never  paid, 
l^o  those  who,  posted  at  the  shrine  of  Truth, 
Have  fairn  in  her  defence.    A  patriot's  blood, 
Well  i^nt  in  such  a  strife,  may  earn  indeed,         715 
And,  for  a  time,  ensure  to  his  lov'd  land 
The  sweets  of  liberty  and  equal  laws ; 
But  martyrs  atrufff^e  for  .a  brighter  prize, 
And  win  it  with  more  pain.    Their  blood  is  shed 
In  confirmation' of  the  noblest  claim —  720 

Our  claim  to  feed  upon  immortal  truth, 
To  walk  with  God,  to  be  divinely  free, 
To  soar,  and  to  anticipate  the  skies. 
Yet  few  rembmber  tbtpi-    They  liv'd  unknown, 
Till  persecution  dragg'd  them. into  feme,  785 

And  chas'd  them  up  to  Heaven.    Their  ashes  flew 
—No  marble  tells  us  whither.    With  their  namee 
Ko  bard  embalms  and  sanctifies  his  song : 


119  •  THE  TASK. 

And  history,  so  warm  on  m.eaner  themes, 

Is  cold  on  this.    She  execrates  indeed  731 

The  tyranny  that  doom*d  them  to  the  fire, 

But  gives  the  glorious  suflTrers  little  praise.* 

He  is  the  freeman  whom  the  truth  makes  fij^sftf 
And  all  are  slaves  beside.    There*s  not  a  chain 
That  he^ish  foes,  confederate  for  his  harm,  735 

Can  wind  around  him,  but  he  casts  it  ofiT 
With  as  much  ease  as  Samson  his  green  withea 
He  looks  abroad  into  the  varied  field 
Of  nature,  and  though  poor,  perhaps,  compar'd 
With  those  whose  mansions  glitter  in  his  sight,      740 
Calls  the  delightiiil  scenery  all  his  own. 
His  are  the  mountains,  and  the  valleys  his, 
And  the  resplendent  rivers.    His  t'  enjoy 
With  a  propriety  that  none  can  feel. 
But  who,  with  filial  confidence  inspired,  749 

Can  lifl  to  heav'n  an  unpresumptuous  eye, 
And  smiling  say — ^"  My  Father  made  them  all  !*• 
Are  they  not  his  by  a  peculiar  rights 
And  by  an  emphasis  of  interest  his. 
Whose  eye  they  fill  with  tears  of  holy  joy,  7W 

Whose  lioart  with  praise,  and  whose  exalted  mind 
With  worthy  thoughts  of  that  unwearied  love. 
That  planned,  and  built,  and  still  upholds  a  world 
So  cloth'd  with  beauty  for  rebellious  man  ? 
Yes — ^ye  may  fill  your  garners,  ye  that  reap  756 

Tiie  loaded  soil,  and  ye  may  waste  much  good 
In  senseless  riot ;  but  ye  will  not  find 
In  feast  or  in  the  chase,  in  song  or  dance,    " 
A  liberty  like  his,  who,  unimpeach'd 
Of  usurpation,  and  to  no  man's  wrong,  760 

Appropriates  nature  as  his  Father^s  work. 
And  has  a  richer  use  of  yours  than  you. 
Ho  is  indeed  a  freeman.    Free  by  birth 
Of  no  mean  city;  plann'd  or  ere  the  hillfi 

♦  See  Hume. 


THE  WINTER  MORNING  WALK.        119 
VI  9re  built,  the  fountains  oj^n'd,  or  the  sea,  766 

^ith  all  his  roaring  multitude  of  waves. 
His  freedom  is  the  same  in  ev'ry  state ; 
Aiid  no  condition  of  this  changeful  lifoi 
80  manifold  in  cares,  whose  ev'rj  day 
Brings  its  own  evil  with  it,  makes  it  less :  770 

For  he  has  wings,  that  neither  sicknesii,  pain, 
Nor  penary,  can  cripple  or  confine. 
No  nook  so  narrow,  but  he  spreads  them  there 
With  ease,  and  is  at*  large.    Th*  oppressor  liddi 
His  body  bound ;  but  knows  not  what  a  rm^e        775 
His  $>irU  tages,  unconscious  cf  a  chain; 
And  that  to  bind  him  is  a  vain  attempt, 
Whom  God  delights  in,  and  in  whom  He  dwells. 

Acquaint  thyself  with  Qo§^  if  thou  would'st  tasta 
Hisworkiu    Admitted  once  to  his  embrace,  780 

Them  shalt  perceive  that  thou  wast  blind  before : 
Thine  eye  shall  be  instructed ;  and  thine  heart, 
Made  pure,  shall  relish  with  divine  delight, 
Till  then  unfolt,  what  hands  divine  have  wrought. 
Brutes  graze  the  mountain>top,  with  faces*  prone,   785 
And  eyes  intent  upon  the  scanty  herb 
It  yields  them ;  or,  recumbent  on  its  brow, 
Ruminate  heedless  of  the  iscene  out^read 
Beneath,  beyond,  and  stretching  far  away 
From  inland  regions  to  the  distant- main.  790 

Man  views  it,  and  admires ;  but  rests  content 
With  what  he  views.  *  The  landscape  has  his  praise, 
But  not  its  author.    Unconcem'd  who  formed 
The  Paradise  he  sees,  he  finds  it  such. 
And  such  well  pleas'd  to  find  it,  asks  no  more.        706 
Not  so  the  mind  that  has  been  tonch'd  from  Heavli, 
And  in  the  school  of  sacred  wisdom  taught 
To  read  His  wonders,  in  whose  thought  the  world. 
Fair  as  it  is,  existed  ere  it  was. 
Nor  for  its  own  sake  merely,  but  for  his  800 

Much  more  who  fashion'd  it,  ho  gives  it  praise ; 
Praise  that  from  earth  resulting,  aa  it  ought. 


IdO  THE  TASK. 

To  earth's  ac^owledg'd  s^v'reign,  finds  at  once 

Its  only  just  proprietor  in  Him.' 

The  soul  that  sees  him,  or  receives  subHm'd  60ft 

New  faculties,  or  learns  at  least  t'  employ 

More  worthily  the  powers  she  own'd  before, 

Discerns  in  all  things  what,  with  stupid  gaio 

Of  ignorance,  till  then  she  overlook'd) 

A  raj  ofhejB,yen]^Jight,  gilding  all  forms  810 

Terrestrial  in  the  vast  and  the  minute ; 

The  unambiguous  footsteps  of  the  God, 

Who  gives  its  lustre  to  an  insect's  wing, 

And  wheels  his  throne  upon  the  rolling  ^rlds. 

Much  conversant  with  Heaven,  she  often  holds      8Ift 

With  those  hir  ministers  of  light  to  man, 

That  fill  the  skies  nightly  with  silent  pomp,     . 

Sweet  conference.    Inquires  what  strains  wece  th^y 

With  which  Heaven  rang,  when  every  i^ar,  in  haaUm 

To  gratulate  the  new-created  earth,  880 

Sent  forth  a  voice,  and  all  the  sons  of  Gbd 

Shouted  for  joy. — ^^  Tell  me,  ye  shining  hoitty 

That  navigate  a  sea  that  knows  no  storms, 

Beneath  a  vault  unsullied  with  a  doud. 

If  from  your  elevation,  whence  ye  view  88S 

Distinctly  scenes  invisible  to  man, 

And  systems,  of  whose  birth  no  tidings  yot 

Have  reach'd  this  nether  world,  ye  spy  a  raee 

Favour'd  m  om« ;  transgressors  from  the  weak 

And  hasting  to  a  grave,  yet  doom'd  to  rise,  830 

And  to  possess  a  brighter  Heaven  than  yovm  I 

As  one,  who,  long  detained  on  foreign  akon^ 

Pants  to  return,  and  when  he  sees  afitf 

His  conntry's  weather-bleach'd  and  batter'd  rocfcfl, 

From  the  green  wave  emerging,  darts  an  eye         B36 

Radiant  with  joy  toward  the  happy  land^ 

So  I  with  animated  hopes  behold. 

And  many  an  aching  wish,  your  beamy  fires, 

That  show  like  beacons  in  the  blua  abyss, 

Ordiun'd  to  guide  th'  embodied  spirit  home  640 


THE  WINTER  MORNING  WALK        1S| 
From  toilsome  lifo  to  never-ending  rest.      '-      ^  .  j.    '^'^' 
Love  kindles  as  I  gaze.    I  feel  desires 
That  give  assurance  of  their  own  saccesf , 
And  that,  infus'd  fVom  Heaven,  must  thither  tend.* 

So  reg^  he  Nature,  whom  the  lamp  of  tr^th     845 
IIIaminates7    Thy  lamp,  mysterions  Word ! 
Whtch  whoso  sees,  no  longer  wanders  lost, 
With  intelleets  bemaz*d  in  endless  douBt, 
But  pama  the  roo^  of  wisdom.    Thou  hast  built 
With  means  that  were  not,  till  by  thee  employed,   860 
Worlds  that  had  never  been,  hadst  thou  in  strength 
Been  less,  or  less  benevolent  than  strong. 
They  are  thy  witnesses,  who  speak  thy  pow^ 
And  goodness  infinite,  but  speak  in  ears 
That  hear  not,  or  receive  not  their  report.  865 

In  vain  thy  creatures  testify  of  thee, 
t^Q  thou  procla^  thyself.    Theirs  is  indeed 
A  teaching  voice ;  bat  tis  the  praise  of  thiae, 
That  whom  it  teaches  it  makes  prompt  to  letray 
And  with  the  boon  gives  talents  for  its  use.  808 

Till  thou  art  heard,  imaginations  vain 
Possess  the  heart,  and  &bles  fblse  as  hell : 
Yet  deem'd  oracular,  lure  down  to  death 
The  uninform'd  attd  heedless  souls  of  men. 
We  give  to  chance,  t^ind  chance,  ourselves  as  bliad| 
The  glory  of  thy  work  ;  which  yet  appears  95$ 

Perfect  and  unimpeachable  of  bkme, 
Challenging  human  scrutiny,  and  prov*d 
Then  skilful  most  when  most  severely  judged. 
But  chance  is  not ;  or  is  not  where  thou  reign^st :  870 
Thy  providence  forbids  that  fickle  pow*r 
(If  pow*r  she  be,  that  works  but  to  confound)    • 
To  mix  her  wild  vagaries  with  thy  laws. 
Tet  thus  we  dote,  refusing  while  we  can 
Instruction,  and  inventing  to  ourselves  878 

Gods  such  as  guilt  makes  welcome ;  gods  that  sleep^ 
Or  disregard  our  follies,  or  that  sit 
Amus'd  spectators  of  thjs  bustling  stage. 

VoL.IL       ^  11 


IS  THE  TASK. 

Thee  we  reject,  unable  to  abide 

Thj  purity,  till  pure  as  thou  art  pure,  860 

Made  such  by  thee,  we  love  thee  for  that  cauaei 
For  which  we  shunn'd  and  hated  thee  before. 
TJien  we. are  free.    Then  liberty,  like  day, 
Breaks  on  the  sool,  and  by  a  flash  from  heav'n 
Fires  all  the  faculties  with  glorious  joy.  886 

A  voice  is  heard  that  mortal  ears  hear  XK>t, 
Till  thou  hast  touch'd  them ;  'tis  the  voice  of 
A  loud  Hosanna  sent  from  all  thy  works  ; 
Which  he  that  hears  it,  with  a  shout  repeats, 
And  adds  his  rapture  to  tlie  general  praise !  800 

In  that  blest  moment,  Nature,  throwing  wide 
Her  veil  opaque,  discloses  with  a  siiiile 
The  author  of  her  beauties,  who,  retir'd 
Behind  his  own  creation,  works  unseen 
By  the  impure,  and  hears  his  pow>  denied .  890 

Thdu  art  the  source  and  centre  of  all  minds, 
Their  only  point  of  rost,  eternal  Word ! 
From  thee  departing,  tliey  are  lost,  and  rove 
At  random,  without  honour,  hope,  or  peace. 
From  thee  is  all  that  sooths  the  life  of  man,  900 

His  high  endeavour,  and  his  glad  TOficess, 
His  strength  to  suffer,  and  his  will  to  servo* 
But  O  thou  bounteous  Giver  of  all  good, 
Thou  art  of  all  thy  gifts  thyself  tho  crown ! 
Give  what  thou  canst,  witliout  thee  we  are  poor;    905 
And  with  thee  riohi  take  what  thou  wilt  away. 


THE  TASKo 


THK  WINTKR  WALK  AT  NOON. 


ARGUMENT  OP  THE  SIXTH  BOOK 
Bella  at  a  diatanco — Their  oiTcct — A  fine  noon  in  Printer — A  thel* 
tered  walk — Meditation  bettec  titan  bookg— Our  famtliariti  witk 
the  course  of  Nature  makes  it  apjicar  less  wondorrni  tlinn  it  if — 
T^e  transformation  tiiat  ISpring  elTocts  in  a  i>hrubbory,  doM^bed 
<r^A  mistake  concerning  the  course  of  Nature  cofrected--4>od 
naintains  it  by  an  unremitted  act — The  amusements  fashionable 
at  this  Iy>ur  of  the  day  reprove^^Antmals  happyy  a  flight- 
ful  sigh^Ori^in  of  cruelty  to  animals — That  it  is  a  great 
erime  proved  from  Scripture — ^That  proof  illustrated  by  a  tale— 
A  line  drawn  between  tlie  lawful  and  anlawful  destruction  of 
them — ^Their  good  and  u£i>ru!  properties  insisted  on — Apologi 
for  the  encomiums  bestowed  by  the  author  on  animffb — Instances 
of  man^s  extravagant  praise  of  mao— The  gro^sof  the  ceeCr* 
tion  shall  have  an  end — A  view  taken  of  the  restoration  of  idl 
things — An  invocation  and  an  invitation  of  Him  who  shall  bripf 
it  to  jiass — Tho  retired  rasa  vindicated  from  th«  charge  of  tiso- 
lossncss — Conclusion. 


THERE  is  in  souls  a  sympathy  with  somids^ 
And  as  the  mind  is  pitcIT'd,  the  car  is  pleas'd 
With  melting  airs  or  martial,  brisk,  or  grare ; 
Some  chord  in  unison  with  what  we  hoar 
Is  touch'd  within  us,  and  the  heart  replies, 
How  sof^  the  musick  of  those  village  belld, 
Falling  at  intervals  upon  the  ear 
fn  cadence  sw^et,  now  dying  all  away, 
Now  pealing  loud  again,  and  louder  still, 
Clear  and  sonorous,  as  the  gale  comes  on ! 


10 


124  THK  TASK. 

With  easy  force  it  opens  all  the  cells 

Where  Mem'ry  slept.    Wherever  I  htvo  heard 

A  kindred  melody,  the  scene  recurs, 

iVnd  with  it  all  its  pleasures  and  its  pains. 

Such  cemprehensive  views  the  spirit  tidies,  16 

That  in  a  few  short  moments  I  retrace 

(As  in  a  map  the  voyager  his  course) 

The  bindings  of  my  way  through  many  years. 

Short  as  in  retrospect'  the  journey  seems, 

It  seom'd  not  always  short ;  the  rugged  path,  20 

And  prospect  ofl  so  dreaxy  and  forlorn, 

Mov'd  many  a  sigh  at  its  disheartening  length. 

Tet  feeling  present  evils,  while  the  past 

Faintly  impress  the  mind  or  not  at  all, 

How  readily  we  wish  time  spent  rerok'd,  85 

That  wo  might  try  the  ground  agam,  where  onee 

(Through  inexperience  as  we  now  perceive) 

We  miss'd  that  happiness  we  might  have  found ! 

Some  friend  is  gone,  perhaps  his  son's  hest  friend! 

A  father,  whose  authority,  in  show  30 

When  most  severe,  and  mustering  all  its  force, 

Was  hut  the  graver  countenance  of  love ; 

Whose  favour,  like  the  clouds  of  spring,  might  IcwV^ 

And  utter  now  and  then  an  awful  voice. 

But  had  a  hlessing  in  its  darkest  frown,  36 

Threatening  at  onee  and  nourishing  the  plant. 

We  lov'd,  but  not  enough,  the  gentle  hand 

That  rear'd  us.    At  a  thoughtless  age,  aUor*d 

By  ev'ry  gilded  folly,  we  renounced 

His  shelt'ring  side,  and  wilfully  forewent  40 

That  converse  which  we  now  in  vain  regret. 

How  gladly  would  the  man  recall  to  life 

The  hoy's  neglected  sire !  a  mother  too, 

That  softer  friend,  perhaps  more  gladly  still. 

Might  he  demand  them  at  the  gates  of  death.  iS 

Sorrow  has,  since  they  went,  subdu  d  and  tam*d 

The  playful  humour :  he  could  now  endure, 

(Himself  grown  sober  in  tlio  vale  ol'  tears,) 


J 


THE  WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.        125 
And  feci  a  parent's  presence  no  restraint. 
But  not  to  understand  a  treasure's  worthy  60 

Til^time  has  stoPn  away  the  slighted  good. 
Is  caose  of  half  the  povery  we  feel, 
And  makes  the  World  the  wilderness  it  is.         • 
The  few  that  pray  at  all,  pray  ofl  amiss, 
And,  seeking  grace  t'  im^rovejhe  prize  they  hold,  55 
Would  urge  a  vriser  suit  tfian  asking  more. 

The  night  was  winter  in  its  roughest  mood ; 
The  morning  riiarp  and  clear.    But  now  at  noon 
Upon  the  southern  side  of  the  slant  hills. 
And  where  the  woods  fence  off  the  northern  blast|  60 
The  season  smiles,  resigning  all  its  rage. 
And  has  the  warmth  of  May.    The  vault  is  bloo 
Without  a  cloud,  and  white  without  a  speck 
The  dazzling  splendour  of  the  dcene  below. 
Again  the  harmony  comes  o'er  the  vale ;  66 

And  through  the  trees  I  view  th'  embattled  towY, 
Whence  all  the  musick.    I  again  perceive 
The  soothing  influence  of  the  wafted  strains. 
And  settle  in  soft  musings  as  I  tread 
The  walk,  still  verdant,  under  oaks  and  elms,  70 

Whose  outspread  branches  overarch  the  glade. 
The  roof,  though  moveable  through  all  its  length 
As  the  wind  sways  it,  has  yet  well  suffic'd, 
And,  intercepting  in  their  silent  lall 
The  frequent  flakes,  has  kept  a  path  for  me.  76 

No  noise  is  ^ere,  or  none  that  hinders  thought 
The  redrbreast  warbles  still,  but  is  content 
Witli  slender  notes,  and  more  than  half  suppreM'd : 
Pleas'd  with  his  solitude,  and  flitting  light 
from  spray  to  spray,  where'er  he  rests  he  shakes   ,60 
Prom  many  a  twig  the  pendent  drops  of  ice, 
rhat  tinkle  in  the  withered  leaves  below. 
BHIlncss,  accompanied  with  sounds  so  soft^ 
Charms  more  than  silence.    Meditation  here 
May  think  down  hours  to  moments.  Here  the  heart  86 
May  give  a  useful  lesson  to  the  head, 
11* 


=^1J 


196  THE  TABK. 

And  Learning  wiser  grow  without  km  books. 

Knowledge  and  Wisdom,  far  from  being  ono, 

Have  ofttimes  no  connexion.  v^Knowledge  dwelk 

In  heads  replete  with  thoughts  of  ether  men ;       HA  \ 

Wisdom  in  roinds  attentive  to  their  ownA 

Knowledge,  a  rude  unprofitable  mass, 

The  mere  materials  with  which  Wisdom  buflds» 

Till  smoothed,  and  squar'd,  and  fitted  to  ks  pke*, .    ^ 

Does  but  encumber  whom  it  seems  t'  enrieh*  99^ 

Knowledge  is  proud  that  he  has  leam'd  so  tt««h  i 

Wisdom  is  humble  that  he  knows  no  mere. 

Books  are  not  seldom  talismans  and  ^eUs, 

By  which  the  magiek  art  of  shrewder  witu 

Hold  an  unthinking  multitude  enUurall'd.  IQO 

Some  to  the  fascination  of  a  name, 

Surrender  judgment  hood-wink'd.    Some  the  styl* 

In&tuates,  and  through  labyrinths  and  wikis 

Of  errour  leads  them,  by  a  tune  entranc'd. 

While  sloth  seduces  more,  too  weak  to  bear  105 

The  insupportable  fiitigue  of  thought, 

And  swallowing,  therefore,  without  panse  or  ehotoo 

The  total  grist  ussifled,  husk^  and  all. 

But  tree  and  rivulets,  whose  rapid  course 

Defies  the  check  of  winter,  haunts  of  d«er|  110 

And  sheep-walks  popplous  with  bleating  lambi^ 

And  lanes,  in  which  the  primrose  ere  her  Unie 

Peeps  through  the  moss,  that  eiothes  the  hawtkom 

rooty 
Deceive  no  student.    Wisdom  there,  and  tmU^ 
Not  shy,  as  in  the  world,  aod  \o  be  won  liS 

By  slow  solicUatioUy  seize  at  once 
The  roving  thought,  and  fix  it  on  themselvos. 

What  prpdigies  can  pow'r  divine  perfi^v 
More  grand  than  it  produces  year  by  yeaf, 
And  all  in  sight  of  inattentive  man  ?  ISI^. 

Familiar  with  th'  effect,  we  (^ght  the  cauM»| 
And  in  the  constancy  of  Nature's  course, 
The  regular  return  of  genial  months, 


J 


THE  WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON,        127 
And  roBoratioii  of  a  faded  world. 
Bee  nought  to  wonder  at.    Should  Ood  again,       1S& 
As  once  in  Gibeon,  interropt  the  race 
Of  th'  nndeviating  and  ptmcUud  min, 
How  would  the  world  Mmire !  But  i^e&ka  it  laat 
An  agency  dmne,  to  make  hun  know 
His  moment  when  to  sink  and  when  to  rise,  130 

Age  after  a^,  than  to  aneet  his  eoWEie  f 
C  All  we  behoW  v\  miffanW ;  hutffeen 
So  dnly^  all  is  Tninw]e.mxai»«^ 
Where  now  the  ^aljanexgjr,  umM  moy'd 
While  summer  was,  the  pure  and  subtle  Ijmfh      135 
Through  Ui'  imperceptible  meand'ring  veins 
Of  leaf  and  flow*r  ?  Itsle^;  and  th' icy  touch 
Of  unproMok  winter  has  in^preae'd 
A  cold  stagnation  on  th*  intestine  tide. 
But  let  the  m<mths  go  round,  a  lew  short  months,  140 
And  all  shall  be  restor'd.    These  naked  shootSf 
Barren  as  lances,  among  which  the  wind 
Makes  wintry  musick,  sighing  as  it  goes, 
-  Shall  put  their  graceful  foliage  on  again, 
And,  more  aspiring,  and  wHh  ampler  spread,  145 

Shall  boast  new  charms,  and  more  than  they  have  lost 
Then  each  in  its  peculiar  hanonrs  dad. 
Shall  publish  even  to  the  distiult  eye 
Its  family  and  tr&e.    Xiahunuttn,  ru^l 
In  streaming  gold }  ^lia^a,  Iv'ry  pure>  -USO 

The  scentleis  and  the  soeated  rose ;  this  red 
And  of  a  humbler  growth,  the  c^er*  tall, 
And  throwing  up  kiito  the  darkest  gloom 
Of  neighb'ring  cypress,  or  more  s^^  yew. 
Her  silver  globes,  light  as  the  foamy  «^,  155 

That  the  wind  severs  from  the  b»<dbtti  wave  ; 
The  lilack,  vw^ous  in  array,  now  white, 
Now  sanguine,  and  her  beanteowi  head  now  set 
With  purple  ipikes  pyramidal,  as  if 
Studious  of  ornament,  yet  unresolved  15^ 

*  The  Guelder  Rose. 


128  THE  TASK. 

Which  hue  she  most  appror'd,  she  ckoie  tiiem  ail  i 
Copious  of  flowers,  the  woodbine,  pale  and  waiiy 
Bnt  well  compensating  her  sickly  looks  ^ 

With  never  cloying  odours,  early  and  lata ; 
Hypericum  all  bloom,  so  thidK  a  swarm  lt>d 

Of  flowers,  like  flies  clothing  her  sUnder  rods, 
That  scarce  a  leaf  appears ;  mezereon,  too, 
Though' leafless,  well-attir*d  and  thick  beset 
With  blushing  wreaths,  investing  every  spsay; 
Althoea  with  the  purple  eye ;  the  broom  170 

Yellow  and  bright,  as  bullion  unalloy'd, 
Her  blossoms ;  and  luxuriant  above  all 
The  jasmine,  throwing  wide  her  elegai^  sweeU, 
The  deep  dark  green  of  whose  unvarnished  leaf 
Makes  more  conspicuous,  and  illumines  more  175 

The  bright  profusion  of  her  Icatter'd  stara^— 
These  have  been,  and  these  shall  be  in  their  day  « 
And  all  this  uniform  uncokmrU  scene 
Shall  be  dismantled  of  its  fleecy  load,       ^ 
And  flush  into  variety  again.  160 

From  dearth  to  plenty,  and  from  death  to  hSd, 
Is  Nature's  progress,  when  she  lectures  man 
In  heavenly  truth ;  evincing,  as  she  makes 
The  grand  transition,  that  their  live*  and  works 
A  soul  in  all  things,  and  that  soul  is  Gud.  185 

The  beauties  of  the  wilderness  are  his, 
That  makes  so  gay  the  solitary  place^ 
Where  no  eye  sees  them.    And  the  fairer  fonnS| 
That  cultivation  glories  in,'  are  his. 
He  sets  the  bright  proceaskm  on  its  way,  190 

And  marshals  all  the  order  of  the  year ; 
He  marks  the  bounds,  which  winter  may  not  pas^ 
And  blunts  his  pointed  fury ;  in  Its  case, 
Husset  and  rude,  folds  up  the  tender- germ, 
Uninjur'd,  with  inimitable  art ;  1^^ 

And,  ere  one  flow'ry  season  &de8  and  di.es. 
Designs  the  blooming  wonders  of  the  next. 
Some  say  that  in  the  origin  of  .things. 


^   i.ii^  ^ 


THE  WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.        129 
When  aU  crMtionflUrted  into  birthi 
The  infant  elements  foceiv'd  a  law  200 

From  which  they  swerr'd  xu>t  einctt.  That  undei  fore^ 
Of  that  controlling  ordinance  thej  move,  " 

And  need  not  His  immediate  hand  who  first 
Prescribed  their  course,  to  regulate  It  now. 
Thus  dream  they,  aad  contriYej^Liast  a^God        20^ 
Th*  encimibrance  of  his  own  conoemsy  and  sp«i» 
The  great  artifioer  of  aU  that  moipas 
The  stress  of  a  eontmual  aet^  the  jkub 
Of  unremitted  irigil^moe  and  oarst 
As  too  laborious  apd  severe  a  task.  810 

So  man,  the  moth,  is  not  afraid,  it  aeemst 
To  span  omnipotence,  and  measure  might 
That  knows  no  measqra,  by  the  aoanty  lulf^ 
And  standard  of  his  own,  that  is  to^ay. 
And  is  not  ere  to-mprrgw's  sun  go  down.  .3l|i 

But  how  should  i^at^er  oceupy  a  charges 
Dull  as  it  is,  and  satisfy  a  law 
So  yast  in  its  demands,  unless  impelled 
To  ceaseless  serriee  by  a  ceoselsas  force, 
And  under  pressure  of  some  conscious  cause '        S30 
The  Lord  of  all,  himself  through  all  diffus*4, 

rSpslainsy  uid  is  the  Ufe  of  i^  that  Uves> 
Nature  is  but  a  n^ise  for  an  e|^»^ 
^  Whoee,q(|iise  is  God^  He  it^i^A  the  secret  ^xm^ 
By  which  the  mighty  process  is  maintain -d,  2^ 

Who  deeps  not,  is  net  weary  \  in  whose  sight 
Slow  circling  ages  are  as  transient  days ; 
Whose  work  is  without  labour ;  whose  designs 
No  flaw  deforms,  no  difficulty  thwarts ; 
And  whose  beneficence  no  charge  exhausts.  230 

Him  blind  antiquity  profan'd,  not  setT'd, 
With  self-taught  rites,  and  under  various  names^ 
Female  and  male,  Pomona,'Pales,  Pan, 
And  Flora,  and  VertTonnus ;  peopling  earth 
Witli  tutelary  goddesses  and  gods,  23^ 

That  were  not ;  and  commending  as  they  would 


130  THE  TASK. 

To  each  sumo  province,  garden,  field,  or  groTO. 

Bat  all  are  under  one.    Qne  spirit— -His 

Who  wore  the  platted  thorns  with  bkeedmg  broir»— 

Rules  unirersal  nature.    Not  a  flower  240 

But  shows  some  touch,  in  freckle,  streak,  or  stahiy 

Of  his  unriraird  penciL    He  inspires 

Their  balmy  odours,  and  imparts  their  hues, 

And  bathes  their  eyes  with  nectar,  and  includes, 

In  grains  as  countless  as  the  seaside  sands,  2lS 

The  forms  with  iHiich  he  sprinkles  all  the  eardi. 

Happy  who  walks  with  him !  whom  vfhat  he  findt 

Of  flarour  or  of  scent  in  fruit  or  flower, 

Of  what  he  views  of  beautiful  or  grand 

In  nature,  from  the  broad  majestiek  oak  950 

To  the  green  blade  that  twinkles  in  the  son. 

Prompts  with  remembrance  of  a  present  €rod 

His  presence,  who  made  all  so  &ir,  perceiv*d. 

Makes  all  still  fiiirer     As  with  him  no  scene 

Is  dreary,  so  with  him  all  seasons  please.  955 

Though  winter  had  been  r.one,  had  man  been  tmo 

And  earth  be  punish'd  for  its  tenant's  sake, 

Yet  not  in  vengeance  ;  as  this  smiling  sky, 

So  soon  succeeding  such  an  angry  night, 

And  these  dissolving  snows,  and  this  dear  stream  900 

Recovering  fast  its  liquid  musick,  prove. 

Who,  then,  that  has  a  mind  welV  strung  andtuB  d 
To  contemplati(m,  and  within  his  reach 
A  scene  so  friendly  to  his  fav'rite.tasfc, 
Would  waste  attention  at  the  checkef*d  board.        961 
His  host  of  wooden  warriours  to  and  fro 
Marching  and  countermarching,  with  an  eye 
As  fix'd  as  marble,  with  a  forehead  ridg*d 
And  furrow'd  into  storms,  and  with  a  hand 
Trembling,  as  if  eternity  were  hung  270 

In  balance  on  his  condiict  of  a  pin  ? 
Nor  envies  he  aught  more  their  idle  sport, 
Who  pant  with  application  misapplied 
To  trivial  toys,  and,  pushing  iv'ry  balls 


THE  WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.      181 
AeioM  a  TdlTSt  level,  feel  a  joy  <     831 

Akin  to  rapture,  when  the  bauble  finds 
ba  deetin'd  goalt  of  diffieult  aoeeas. 
Nor  deems  he  wiser  him,  who  gives  his  noon 
T*  mlsSy  the  maroer's  plagaa  Stom  shop  to  ahof 
Wand'ring,  and  litt*ring  with  nnfidded  «lks  981 

The  polish'd  coontor,  and  ippnmmg  nene. 
Or  promising  with  smiles  to  call  again* 
Nor  him,  who  by  his  vanitj  sedne'd, 
And  soothed  into  a  dream,  that  he  diseems 
The  diffVence  of  a  Gvido  ftom  adanb,  tt5 

Freqneits  the  crowded  an^ion  :  statisn'd  thava 
As  duly  as  the  Langford  of  the  show, 
With  glass  at  eye,  and  catalogue  ia  hand. 
And  tongue  aecompliflh'd  in  the  folsone  cant 
Andpedantry  that  coxcombs' learn  wkh  case «       SM 
Oft  as  the  [Hrioe-deciding  hammsr  faHs, 
He  notes  it  ia  his  book,  then  raps  his  bes, 
Swears  tts  a  bargain,  rails  at  his  hard  fida. 
Thai  ha  has  let  it  paM— bat  neTcr  ludsl 

Here  unmolested,  through  whatever  sign  89B 

The  sun  proceeds,  I  wander.    Neither  mist^ 
Nor  freeadng  sky  nor  sultry,  checking  me^ 
Nor  stranger  intermeddling  wkh  wij  joy. 
E*on  in  the  sp^ng  and  play  tisde  of  the  yeai^ 
That  calls  the  unwonted  vUkg^^^ri^  900 

With  all  her  little  ones,  a  sportive  train. 
To  gather  kingcups  in  the  yellow  mead, 
And  prink  their  hair  with  <Uisies,  or  to  pick 
A  cheap  but  wholesome  salad  from  the  brook>« 
Tl.ese  shades  are  all  my  own.    The  tim'rous  hare, 
Grown  so  famili&r  with  hex  frequent  Ifuest,  306 

Scarce,  shons  me ;  and  the  stock-dQX9,  unalarm'd. 
Sits  cooing^  in  the  pinotree,  nor  sui^pends 
His  long  love  ditty  for  my  near  approach. 
Drawn  from  lua  refuge  in  some  lonely  olm,  316 

That  a^jo  or  injury  has  hoIlowM  deep, 
Where*  on  Lis  bed  of  woul  and  tiintted  leaves. 


I8t  TH£  TASK. 

Sft  has  outslopt  the  wmtar,  Tenturoi  roxth, 

To  frisk  awbilo)  wad  hntk  in  the  wmrm  vuil, 

The  iqairrel,  flippaal,  p«rt,  and  AiU  o£fkfi  M 

He  sees  me,  and  at  onoev  awiil  «a  a  Idfd, 

Ascend*  <*•  tfeigiib'fhigibMoh ;  tiiete  wMrfttUvimll, 

kaA  perks  lua  eaxsy  aiiii«taMi^>a,  and  ^kmrnJofoA^ 

With  all  the  prattoMsof  iin^ld  akuM, 

And  anger  insigaifieantftf  fieiea^  SW 

The  heart  is  hard  in  mtvfa,  md  unfit 
For  human  AliowAipiy  is  tteia|^TiOid 
Of  sympathy,  and  therates  deaid  alik# 
To  loya  and  Aseniship  kolfa,  tiitt  ian^t  pHtufii 
With  sight  of  animals  ffljpyiiig  iifty  Ml 

Nor  feels  th^  happiness  angmeat  Imoiht. 
The  bonniiag  feni,  that  darts  acroaathsglwte 
*^^n  nmn  pimmrn  fhmngh  mnrn  flafifektTiif  httit 
And  spirits  bu^vanl  with  ettsesB  vf  glee  } 
The  horse  as  wanisli,  and  flkaost^sfleit,  W 

That  skims  the  Apacfisn*  neadow  vt  fM  vpmi, 
Then  stops,  add  SMorts,  and,  thrawing  high  Mb  hMn, 
Starts  to  the  rakatittay  race  agafai; 
The  very  |^  thai  gambol  at  high  nooi^ 
The  total  herd  reooivingArst  Gsua  one,  416 

That  leads  the  doneo,  a  summons  to  he  gay, 
Though  wild  their  strai^ne  Tagaries,  and  nnttduih 
Their  efforts,  yet  resdv'd,  with  one  consent, 
1*0  give  such  act  and  ntt'ranoe  as  they  may 
To  ecstasy  too  hig  to  be  snpprees'd—  915 

These,  and  a  thousand  Images  of  tlun, 
With  which  kind  Nature  graces  or^  scone, 
Where  cruel  man  defeats  not  her  design, 
Impart  to  the  benevolent,  who  wish 
Ali  that  are  capable  of  pleasure  pleas'd,  /        316 

A  far  siiperioiir  happiness  to  theirs. 
The  coinfort  of  a  reasonable  joy._^ 
,^— Wtfli  Fcarco  Iiad  risn,  obedient  to  his  call 
Who  forin'd  him  from  the  dost,  his  future  grave, 
When  ho  \va«  crown'd  -am  never  kin^j  was  srinee.      350 


THE  WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.       13S 
Ood  set  th»  diftdcm  upon  his  bead, 
And  angel  oboiM  sttend^J  Wond'ring  stood 
The  new-made  monarchTwhile  before  him  pass'di 
All  happy^  and  all  perlect  in  their  kind. 
The  creatnnsy  •nmmon'd  fl«m  their  Tariechf  hamU, 
To  see  their  sor'reigii,  and  oonftss  his  swaj.  950 

Vast  was  his  emptre,  abeohite  hSa  pow^, 
Or  bounded  onlj  bj  a  law,  whose  fbree 
*Twas  his  sid»limest  privilege  to  ibel 
And  own — ^tbe  law  dT jrajversal  kgre.  360 

He  ml'd  with  meeiness,  tfasjr  obeyed  wHh  Joj ; 
9o  cruel  purpose  Inrk'd  within  his  heart, 
And  no  distrust  of  his  intent  in  theirs. 
So  Eden  was  a  seeao  of  harmless  sport, 
Where  kindness  on  his  part  who  rul'd  the  wbele,  865 
Begat  a  tranqail  confidence  in  all, 
And  fear  as  yet.was  notyOior  oanse  fbr  ftar. 
Butynmarr'dall ;  and  the  roT^t  of  man, 
That  source  of  erils  not  exhausted  yet. 
Was  punished  with  revolt  of  his  from  him.  910 

Garden  of  God,  how  terrible  the  change 
Thy  groves  and  lawns  then  witnessed!  £v*ry  heart,  ' 
Each  animal,  of  ev'ry  name,  conoeiv'd 
A  jealousy  and  an  instinctive  fear. 
And,  conscious  of  some  danger,  either  fled  876 

Precipitate  the  loath'd  abode  of  man, 
Or  growPd  defianoe  in  suoh  angry  sort, 
As  taught  him  too  to  tremble  in  his  tuna. 
Thus  harmony  and  family  accord 
Were  driven  from  Paradise ;  and  in  that  hour        380 
The  seeds  of  cruelty,  that  some  have  ewelTd 
To  such  gigantiek  and  enormous  growth. 
Were  sown  in  humaa  nature's  firuttful  soil. 
Hence  date  the  persecution  and  the  pain, 
That  man  inflicts  on  all  inferiour  kinds,  38f 

Regardless  of  their  plaints.    To  make  him  i 
To  gratify  the  frenzy  of  his  wrath, 
Or  his  base  gluttony,  are  causes  good 
Vol.  II.  18 


134  THE  TASK. 

And  just  in  his  account^  why  bird  and  beast 

Should  suffer  torture,  and  the  streams^be  died        801 

With  blood  of  their  inhabitants  impal'd. 

ESarth  groans  beneath  the  burden  of  a  war 

Wag'd  with  defenceless  innooeneei  while  he, 

Not  satisfied  to  prey  on  all  around. 

Adds  tenfold  bittemen  to  deiOh  by  pangs  .395 

Needless,  and  first  torments  ere  he  doTours. 

Now  h9ppiest_the7  that  oeei^y  the  soenee 

The  most  remote  from  his  abhorr'd  resort,  ^'^'^^'-^^ 

Whom  once,  as  delegate  of  God  on  earth, 

They  fear'd,  and  as  his  perfect  image,  loVd.  408 

The  wilderness  is  theirs,  with  all  its  caves, 

Its  hollow  glens,  its  thickets,  and  its  i^ams^ 

Unyisited  by  man.    There  they  are  free, 

And  howl  and  roar  as  likes  them,  oiwontroli'd; 

Nor  ark  his  leaTC  to  slumber  or  ta  play.  406 

Wo  to  the  tyrant,  if  he  dare  intrude 

Within  the  confines  of  their  wiU  domain : 

The  lion  tells  him — ^I  am  monarch  here— 

And  if  he  spare  him,  spares  him  on  the  terms 

Of  royal  mercy,  and  through  gen'rous  scorn  410 

To  rend  a  victim  trembling  at  his  foot. 

In  measure,  as  by  fbree  of  instinct  drawn, 

Or  by  necessity  oonstrain'd,  they  live 

Dependent  upon  man ;  those  in  his  fields. 

These  at  his  crib,  and  some  beneath  his  roof.  415 

They  prove  too  ofVen  at  how  dear  a  rate 

He  selb  protection-^Wilness  at  his  foot 

The  spaniel  dying  for  some  venial  fkult 

Under  dissection  of  the  knotted  scourge ; 

Witness  the  patient  ox,  with  stripes  and  yells         490 

Driv'n  to  the  slaughter,  goaded,  as  he  runs, 

To  madness ;  while  the  savage  at  his  heels 

Laughs  at  the  frantick  sufferer's  fury,  spent 

Upon  the  guiltless  passenger  o'erthrown. 

Ho  too  is  witness,  noblest  of  the  train  435 

Tliat  wait  on  man.  the  flight-nerforming  h^^  • 


THE  WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.       138 
Willi  unsuspecting  readiness  he  takes 
His  murd'rer  on,ius  back,  and,  puah'd  all  day 
With  bleeding  sides  and  flanks  that  heare  for  Hfoi 
To  the  far  distant  goal  arrives  and  dies.  49D 

So  little  mercy  shows  who  needs  so  much ! 
Does  law,  so  jealous  in  the  cause  of  man, 
Denounce  no  doom  on  the  delinquent  ?  None. 
He  lives  and  o'er  his  brimming  beaker  boasts 
(As  if  barbarity  were  high  desert,)  439 

Th'  inglorious  feat,  and  clamorous  in  praise 
Of  the  poor  brute,  seems  wkeiy  to  suppose 
The  honours  of  his  matchless  h<»r8e  his  own. 
But  many^acrime,  deem'd  innocent  on  earth, 
Is  register*4iaJIeay]n ;  and  these  no  doubt,  440 

Have  each  thoir  record,  with  a  curse  annex'd. 
Man  may  dismiss  compassion  from  his  heart. 
But  God  will  never.    When  he  eharg'd  the  Jew         • 
T'  assist  his  foe's  down-fallen  beast  to  rise ; 
And  whon  the  bush-exploring  boy,  that  seii'd         445 
The  young,  to  let  the  parent  bird  go  free  ; 
Prov'd  he  not  plainly,  that  his  meaner  worki 
Are  yet  liis  care,  and  have  an  int'rest  all, 
All,  in  the  universal  Father's  love? 
On  Noah,  and  in  him  on  all  mankind,  460 

The  charter  was  conferr'd  by  which  we  hold 
The  flesh  of  animals  in  foe,  and  claim 
O'er  all  we  feed  on  pow'r  of  life  and  death. 
But  read  the  instrument,  and  mark  it  well : 
Th'  oppression  of  a  tyrannous  control  456 

Can  find  no  warrant  there.    Feed  then,  and  yield, 
Thanks  for  thy  food.    Cormvor^iuu  through  sin, 
Feed  onJLbe  slain,  but  spare  the  living  brute  ?    • 

The  Governor  of  all,  himself  to  all 
So  bountiful,  in  whose  attentive  ear  460 

The  ui^edg'd  ravon  and  tiie  lion's  whelp 
Plead  not  iu  vain  for  pity  on  the  pangs 
Of  hunger  unassuag'd,  has  interpos'd, 
Kot  seldom,  lus  avengiag^fttm^  to  smite 


136  THE  TASK- 

Th'  injurious  trampler  upon  Nature's  law,  465 

That  claims  forbearance  even  for  a  brute. 

He  hates  the  hardness  of  a  Bftlaam|s  heait ; 

And,  prophet  as  he  was,  he  might  not  strike 

The  blameless  animal,  without  rebuke, 

On  which  he  rode.    Her  opportune  o£^nce  470 

Sav'd  him,  or  the  unrelenting  seer  had  died. 

He  sees  that  human  equity  is  slack 

To  interfere,  though  in  so  just  a  cause : 

And  makes  the  task  his  own.    Inspiring  dundb 

And  helpless  victims  with  a  sense  so  keen  475 

Of  injury,  with  such  knowledge  ef  their  strength 

And  such  sagacity  to  take  revenge, 

That  oft  the  beast  has  seem*d  to  judgv  the  man. 

An  ancient,  not  a  legendary  tale, 

By  one  of  sound  intelligence  rehears'd,  480 

(If  such  who  plead  for  Providence  hiay  seem 

In  modem  eyes,)  shall  make  the  doctrine  clear. 

Where  England,  stretched  towards  the  setting  suii| 
Narrow  and  bng,  o'erlooks  the  western  wave, 
Dwelt  young  Misagathus ;  a  scomer  he  485 

Of  God  and  goodness,  atheist  in  ostent^  , 

Vicious  in  act,  in  temper  savage-fierce. 
He  joumey'd :  and  his  chance  was,  as  fae  went, 
To  join  a  travller,  of  far  different  note, 
Evander,  fam'd  for  piety,  for  years  490 

Deserving  h6nour,  bvA  for  wisdom  more. 
Fame  had  not  left  the  venerable  man 
A  stranger  to  the  manners  of  the  youth, 
Whose  face,  too,  was  familiar  to  his  view. 
Tlieir  way  was  on  the  margin  of  the  land,  496 

O'er  the  green  summit  of  the  rocks,  whose  base 
Beats  back  the  -roaring  surge,  scarce  heard  so  high. 
The  charity  that  warm'd  his  heart,  was  mov*d 
At  Sight  of  the  man-monster.    With  a  smite      ' 
Gentle  and  affable,  and  full  of  grace,  500 

As  fearful  of  offending  whom  he  wish'd 
Much  to  pe^jsuade,  be  plied  his  ear  with  truths 


THE  WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.        137 
Not  Iiarldly  thundered  forth,  or  rudely  prefts'd, 
But,  like  his  purpose,  gracious,  kind,  and  sweet 
"  And  dost  thou  dream,"  th*  impenetrable  man       505 
Exclaim'd,  *^  that,  me  the  lullabies  of  age, 
And  fantasies  of  dotards,  sueh  as  thou. 
Can  cheat,  or  move  a  moment's  fear  in  me  ? 
Mark  now  the  proof  I  give  thee,  that  the  brave 
Need  no  sucir  aids  as  superstition  lends  510 

"  To  steel  their  hearts  against  the  dread  of  death.* 
He  spoke,  and  to  the  precipice  at  hand 
Pushed  with  a  roadman's  fury.    Fancy  shrinks. 
And  the  blood  thrills  and  curdles  at  the  thought' 
Of  such  a  gulf  as  he  design'd  his  grave.  515 

But  though  the  felon  on  his  back  could  dare 
The  dreadful  leap,  more  rational,  his  steed 
Declin'd  the  death,  and  wheeling  swiftly  round. 
Or  ere  his  hoof  had  press'd  the  crumbling  verge, 
Baffled  his  rider,  sar'd  against  his  will.  520 

The  frenzy  of  the  brain  may  be  redress'd 
By  med'cine  well  applied,  but  without  grace 
The  heart's  insanity  admits  no  cure. 
Enrag'd  the  more,  by  what  might  have  reformed 
His  horrible  intent,  again  he  sought  525 

Destruction,  with  a  zeal  to  be  deBtroyM, 
With  sounding  whip,  and  rowels  died  in  blood, 
But  still  in  vain.    Tim  Providence  that  meant 
A  longer  date  to  the  far  nobler  beast, 
Spar'd  yet  again  th'  ignobler  for  his  sake.  590 

And  nowy  his  prowess  proy'd,  and  his  sincere 
Incurable  obduracy  evinc'd, 

His  rage  grew  cool,  and,  pleas'd  x>erhaps  t'  have  eam'd 
So  cheaply,  the  renown  of  that  attempt, 
With  looks  of  some  complacence  he  resum'd  535 

His  road,  deriding  much  the  blank  amaze 
Of  godd  Evander,  still  where  he  was  left 
Fix'd  motionless,  and  petrified  with  dread. 
So  on  they  far'd.    Discourse  on  other  themes 
Ensuing  seem'd  t'  obliterate  the  past ;  540 

12* 


38  THE  TASK. 

And  tamer  fer  ibr  so  mucii  fory  showa, 
(As  is  tke  couxso  of  rash  and  (toty  men,) 
The  rude  compamoa  smird)  as  if  traiisibrm'd— 
But  'twas  a  transient  calm.    A  stena  was  near 
An  unsuspected  storm.    His  hour  was  come.  d45 

The  impious  challenger  of  Pow'r  divme 
Was  now  to  learn,  tiiat  Heaven,  tiu^^ugh  Aow  to  vtat]^ 
Is  never  with  impunity  d^ed. 
His  horse,  as  he  had  caught  his  mastetVi  moodi 
'  Snorting,  and  starting  into  sudden  rage,  £60 

Unlndden,  and  not  bow  to  be  c<Nitr^'d, 
Rush'd  to  the  cliff,  aad,  having  reach'd  it,  Mood. 
At  once  the  shcKsk  unseated  him:  be  flew 
Sheer  o'er  the  craggy  baarrier  ;  and  immersed 
Deep  in  the  flood,  finind,  when  he  sought  it  not^     555 
The  death  he  had  desenr'd,  and  died  alone. 
So  God  wrought  douUe  justice  ;  made  the  fool 
The  victim  of  his  own  tremendous  choice, 
And  taught  a  brute  the  way  to  safe 'revenge.  . 

I  would  not  onter  on  my  list  of  friends,  560 

(Though  grao'd,with  polish'd  manners  and  fino  sense, 
Tet  wanting^  sensibility,)  the  man 
W1k>  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  wonn« 
An  inadvertent  step  may  crush  the  snail 
That  crawla  at  ev'ning  in  the  publick  path  ;      *     S65 
But  he  that  has  humanity,  forewarned, 
Will  tread  aside,  and  let  the  reptile  live. 
The  creeping  vermin,  loathsome  to  Che  sight, 
And  charg'd  p^haps  with  venom,  that  intrudef, 
A  visitor  unwelcome,  into  scenes       _     *  S99 

Sacred  to  neatness  and  repose,  th*  alcove. 
The  chamber,  or  refectory,  may  die : 
A  necessary  act  incurs  no  blame. 
Not  so  when,  held  within  their  proper  bounds, 
And  guiltless  of  offence,  they  range  the  air,  575 

Or  take  their  pastime  in  the  spacious  field : 
There  they  are  privileg'd ;  and  he  that  hunts 
Of  harms  them  thoro  is  guilty  of  a  wrong. 


THE  WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.        19 
Disturbs  the  ecoaomj  of  Nature's  realm, 
Who,  when  she  formed,  designed  them  an  abode.     580 
The  sum  is  this :  If  man's  convenience,  healthy 
Or  safety,  interfere,  his  n^t*  "id  claims 
ArejAramovnt^  and  must  extinguish  theirs. 
Else  they  are  all — the  meanest  things  that  are-* 
As  free  to  live,  and  to  ei^oy  that  life,  585 

As  God  was  free  to  form  them  at  the  first. 
Who  in  his  sovereign  wisdom  made  them  alL 
Te,  therefore,  who  love  mercy,  teach  your  sons 
To  lore  it  too.    The  epnng  time  of  our  years 
Is  soon  dishonoured  ajMl  defil'd  in  most  690 

By  budding  ills,  that  ask  a  prudent  hand 
To  check  them.    But,  alas  1  none  sooner  shoots, 
If  unrestrained,  into  luxuriant  growth. 
Than  cruelt]^,  most  devlish  of  them  alL 
Mercy  to  him  that  shows  it,  is  the  rule  59$ 

And  righteous  limitation  pf  its  act. 
By  which  Heav-n  moves  is  pard'niag  guilty  man ; 
And  he  that  shows  none,  being  ripe  in  years, 
And  conscious  of  the  outrage  he  commits, 
Shall  seek  it,  and  not  find  it,  in  his  turn.  600 

Diatinguish'd  much  by  reasoiu  and  still  mora 
By  our  capacity  of  grace  divine. 
From  creatures,  that  exist  but  fiir  our  sake, 
Which  having  serv'd  us,  perish,  wejjsJiyld 
Acco^ntahlej  and  God  some  future  day  005 

Win  reckon  with  us  roundly  for  th'  abuse 
Of  what  he  deems  no  mean  nor  trivial  trust 
Superiour  as  we  are,  they  yet  depend 
Not  more  on  human  help  than  we  on  theirs. 
Their  streiigth,  or  speed,  or  vigilance,  were  giv'n  610 
In  aid  of  our  defects.    In  some  are  found 
Such  teachable  and  apprehensive  parts. 
That  man's  attaixmients  in  his  own  concerns, 
Match'd  with  th'  expertness  of  the  brutes  in  theirs, 
Are  ofltimos  vanquished  and  thrown  &r  behind.      €15 
Some  show  that  nice  sagacity  of  stnolU 


<40  TUf:  TASK 

And  read  with  such  discernment,  in  the  poit 

And  figure  of  the  man,  hiB  secret  aim. 

That  oft  we  oire  our  safety  to  a  skill 

We  could  not  teach,  and  must  despair  to  learn.       OJW 

But  learn  wo  mi^jht,  if  not  too  proud  to  stoop 

To  quadruped  instructers  many  a  good 

And  useful  quality,  and  virtue  too, 

R&Foly  exemplified  among  ourselves. 

Attachment  never  to  be  wean'd,  or  changM  625 

By  any  change  of  fortune  :  proof  alfte 

Against  tmkindness,  absence,  and  neglect; 

Fidelity,  that  neither  bribe  nor  threat 

Can  move  or  warp ;  and  gratitude  for  small 

W  trivial  favours,  lasting  as  the  life,  690 

nd  glist'ning  even  in  the  dying  eye. 
Man  praises  man.    Desert  in  arts  or  arms 
Wins  publick  honour ;  and  ten  thousand  sit 
Patiently  present  at  a  sacredrsong,  / 

Commemoration  mad  ;  content  to  hear  635 

(O  wonderfW  effect  of  musick's  power !) 
Messiah's  eulogy  for  Hmidel's  sake ! 
But  less,  methinks,  than  sacnlege  might  serve-* 
(For,  was  it  less,  what  heathen  would  have  dtr*d 
To  strip  Jove's  statue  of  his  oaken  wreath,  610 

And  hang  it  up  in  honour  of  a  man  f) 
Much  less  might  serve,  when  aH  that  we  design 
Is  but  to  gratify  an  itching  ear. 
And  give  the  day  to  a  musician's  praise. 
Remember  Handel  ?    Who,  that  was  not  bom        64$ 
Deaf  as  the  dead  to  harmony,  forgets,    * 
Or  can,  the  more  than  Homer  of  his  age  ? 
Yen — ^we  remember  him ;  and  while  we  pnuse 
A  talent  so  divine,  remember  too 
That  His  most  holy  book  from  whom  it  came,         65C 
Was  never  meant,  was  never  us'd  before, 
To  buckram  out  the  mem'ry  of  a  man. 
But  hush  ! — ^the  Muse  perhaps  is  too  severe 
And  with  a  gravity  beyond  the  size 


THE  WINTEE  WALK  Al  NOON.       141 
And  measure  of  th'  offence,  rebnkM  a  deed  6S5 

Less  impious  than  absurd,  and  owing  more 
To  waAt  of  judgment  than  to  wrong  design 
So  in  the  diapel  of  old  Ely  House, 
When  wand'ring  Charles,  who  meant  to  be  the  third« 
Had  fled  from  William,  and  the  news  was  fresh,     GOO 
The  mmple  clerk,  but  loyal,  did  announce. 
And  eke  did  roar  right  merrily,  two  staves, 
Sung  to  the  praise  and  glory  of  Sji%  Qeerge! 
— ^Man  praises  man:  and  Garrick's  roem*ry  sezty 
When  time  hath  somewhat  mellow'd  it,  and  mad*  €GS 
The  idol  of  our  worship  while  he  li^'d 
The  God  of  our  idolatry  once  more, 
filiall  haye.its  altar ;  and  the  world  riiall  ge 
In  pilgrimage  to  bow  before  his  shrine. 
The  theatre  too  small,  shall  suffocate  6W 

Its  squeex'd  contents,  and  more  than  it  adnkiu 
Shall  sigh  at  their  exclusion,  and  return 
fJngratified ;  for  there  some  noble  lord 
Shall  stuff  his  shoulders  with  King  Richard's  bonci^ 
Or  wrap  himself  in  Hamlet's  inky  cloak,  63S 

And  strut,  and  storm,  and  straddle,  stamp,  and  sCftrti 
To  show  the  world  how  Garrick  did  not  act. 
For  Garrick  was  a  worshipper  himself; 
He  drew  the  liturgy,  and  firom'd  the  iite« 
And  solemn  ceremonial  of  the  day,  980 

And  call'd  the  world  to  worship  on  the  banks 
Of  Avon,  fam'd  in  song.    Ah,  ploasant  proof 
That  piety  has  still  in  human  hearts 
Some  place,  a/ipark  or  two  not  yet  eztineL 
The  mulb'rry  tree  was  hung  with  blooming  wrwClM ; 
The  mulb'rry  tree  stood  centre  of  the  dance ;         686 
The  mulb'rry  tree  was  hymn'd  with  dulcet  affs; 
And  from  his  touchwood  trunk  the  mulb'riy  treo 
Supplied  such  relicks  as  devotion  holds 
Still  sacred,  and  preserves  with  pious  cam.  606 

So  'twas  a  hallow'd  time :  decorum  reign'd. 
And  mirth  without  offence.    No  few  retum'd. 


142  THE  TASK. 

Doubtless,  much  edified,  and  all  refreshU 

— Man  praise§  man.    The  rabble  all  aliye 

From  tippling  benches,  cellars,  stalls,  and  styes,     695 

Swarm  in  the  streets.    The  statesman  of  the  day, 

A  pompous  and  slow-moving  pageant,  comes. 

Siune  shout  him,  and  some  hang  upon  his  car, 

To  gaze  in 's  eyes,  and  bless  him.    Maidens  wa¥B 

Thleir  kerchiefs,  and  old  women  weep  for  joy :         700 

While  others,  not  so  satisfied,  unhorse 

The  gilded  equipage,  and  turning  loose 

His  steeds,  usurp  a  place  they  well  deserve. 

Why.'  what  has  charm'd  them?    Hath  he  eared  the 

sUte? 
No.    Doth  he  purpose  its  salvation  ?    No. .  706 

Knchanting  novelty,  that  moon  at  full, 
That  finds  out  ev'ry  crevice  of  the  head 
That  is  not  sound,  and  perfect,  hath  in  theirs 
Wrought  this  disturbance.    But  the  wane  i^  nemr^ 
And  his  own  cattle  must  suffice  him  soon.  71§ 

Thus  idly  do  we  waste  the  breath  of  praise, 
And  dedicate  a  tribute,  in  its  use 
And  just  direction  sacred,  to  a  thing 
Doomed  to  the  dust,  or  lodg'd  already  there. 
Encomium  in  old  time  was  poet's  work ;  71$ 

But  poets,  having,  lavishly  long  since 
Exhausted  all  materials  of  the  art. 
The  task  now  fidls  into  the  publick  hand ; 
And  I  contented  with  an  l^umbler  themg, 
Have  pbur'd  my  stream  of  panegyrick  down  721 

The  vale,of  N»ture»  where  it  creeps  and  wim3s 
Among  her  lovely  works  with  a  secure 
And  unambitious  course,  reflecting  clear. 
If  not  the  virtues,  yet  the  worth  of  brutes. 
And  I  am  recompensed,  and  deem  the  toils  72S 

Of  poetry  not  lost,  if  verse  of  mine 
May  stand  between  an  animal  and  wo. 
And  teach  one  tyrant  pity  for  his  drudge. 
The  groans  of  Nature  in  this  nether  worid,- 


THE  WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.       148 
Which  heav'n  has  hoard  for  ages,  have  an  end.       730 
Foretol4  by  prophets,  and  bj  poets  song, 
Whose  fire  was  kindled  at  the  prophets'  lamp ; 
The  time  of  rest,  the  promised  sabbath,  comes 
Six  thousand  years  of  sorrow  have  well  ni^ 
Fulfill'd  their  tardy  and  disastrous  course  735 

Oyer  a  sinful  world ;  and  what  remains 
Of  this  tempestuous  state  of  human  things 
fs  merely  as  the  working  of  a  sea 
Before  a  calm  that  rocks  itself  to  rest ; 
For  He,  whose  car  the  winds  are,  and  the  clouds   740 
The  dust  that  waits  upon  his  sultry  march, 
When  sin  hath  mov'd  him,  and  his  wrath  is  hot, 
Shall  visit  earth  in  mercy ;  shall  descend 
Propitious  in  his  chariot  pav*d  with  love ; 
And  what  his  storms  have  blasted  and  defac'd         745 
For  man's  revolt,  shall  with  a  smile  repair. 

Sweet  is  the  harp  of  prophecy ;  too  sweet 
Not  to  be  wrong  *d  by  a  mere  mortal  touch ; 
Nor  can  the  wonders  it  records  be  sung 
To  meaner  musick,  and  not  suffer  loss.    '  750 

But  when  a  poet,  or  when  one  like  me, 
Happy  to  rove  among  poetick  flow'rs. 
Though  poor  in  skill  to  rear  them,  lights  at  last 
On  some  fair  theme,  some  theme  divinely  fair, 
Such  is  the  impulse  and  the  spur  he  feels,  755 

To  give  it  praise  proportion'd  to  its  worth. 
That  not^t*  attempt  it>  arduous  as  he  deems 
The  labou)r,  wore  a  task  more  arduous  still. 

O  scenes  surpaissung  fable,  and  yet  true, 
Scenes  of  accomplished  bliss !  which  who  can  see,  790 
Though  but  in  distant  prospect,  and  not  feel 
His  soul  refreshed  with  foretaste  of  the  joy  ? 
Rivers  of  gladness  water  all  the  earth, 
And  clothe  all  climes  with  beauty ;  the  reproach 
Of  barrenness  is  past.  "TThe  fruitful  field  765 

Laughs  with  abundance  ;  and  the  land,  once  lean. 


144  THE  TASK. 

Or  fertile  oiAy  m  its  own  disgraeey 
Exults  to  see  iU  thistlj  ewrte  repeal'4. 
The  yarioos'teasons  woven  into  one, 
.  And  that  one  season  an  eternal  springs  770 

The  garden  iears  no  blight,  eiid  needs  no  fimoe, 
Fbr  there  is  nono  io  eoret,  all  Vf  fsdL 
The  lion,  and  the  libbard,  and  the  bear, 
GnpEe  with  the  fearless  floeks ;  all  bai^  i^  noon 
Together,  or  all  gambol  in  the  shada  f?5 

Of  the  same  grove,  and  drink  one  eomsion  stream; 
Antipathies  are  none.    No  foe  to  man 
Larks  in  the  serpent  now ;  the  mother  sees, 
And  smiles  to  see,  her  infant's  plajinl  hand 
Strbtch'd  forth  to  dally  with  the  erested  worm,       760 
To  stroke  his  azure  neek,  <Nr  to  reeeiye 
The  lambent  homage  of  hij  arrowy  tongue. 
All  creatures  worship  man,  and  all  mankind 
One  Lord,  one  Father*    Erroor  has  no  place  ; 
That  creeping  pestilence  is  drir'n  away ;  786 

The  breathe  of  Ueav'n  has  chas'd  it.    In  the  heari 
No  passion  touches  a  discordant  string. 
But  all  is  harmony  and  love.     Disease 
Is  not :  the  pure  and  uncontaminate  blood 
Holds  Its  doe  course,  nor  fears  the  frost  of  aga       7D0 
One  song  employs  all  nations ;  and  all  cry, 
**  Worthy  the  Lanb,  for  he  was  riain  for  tis  V* 
The  dwellers  in  the  vales  and  on  the  rooks 
Shout  to  each  other,  and  the  mountain  ti^ 
From  distant  mountains  catch  the  flying  joy,  796 

Till,  nation  after  nation  taught  the  strain, 
Earth  rolls  the  rapturous  hosanna  round. 
Behold  the  measure  of  the  promise  fiU'd ; 
See  Salem  built,  the  laixmr  of  a  God  ! 
Bright  as  a  sun  the  sacred  city  shines ;  800 

All  kingdoms  and  all  princes  of  the  earth 
Flock  to  that  light ;  the  glory t>f  all  lands 
Flows  into  her  ;  unbounded  is  her  joy, 


p 


THE  WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.       U$ 
And  endless  her  increase.    Thy  rams  ar^  Umto 
Nebaioth,  and  the  flocks  of  Kedar  there  ;**  QOf^ 

Tlie  looms  of  Ormns,  and  the  minea  of  lady 
And  Saba's  ^i6y  groyes  pay  tribotd  thera* 
Praise  is  jni^l  her  gates ;  upon  her  vi^ 
And  in  her  streats,  aad  in  her  spaoioua  ooilrt% 
.  Is  heard  salvatioa.    Eastern  Java  there  9U) 

Kneels  with  the  native  of  the  fiirthest  west$ 
And  iEthiopia  spreads  abroad  the  faaxMl> 
And  worships.    Her  report  has  traveU'd  forlh 
Into  all  lands.    From  ev'ry  elime  tJiey  oonM 
To  see  thy  beauty,  and  to  share  thy  joy»  .    S15 

O  Sion  !  an  assembly  such  as  Earth 
Saw  never,  such  as  Heav'n  stoops  down  to  aee. 

Thus  heav'nward  all  things  tend.  For  aU  weift«SM6 
Perfect,  and  all  must  be  at  length  restore* 
So  God  has  greatly  purposed  ',  who  would  elm       890 
In  his  dishonour 'd  works  himself  enduro 
Dishonour,  and  be  wrong'd  witlmut  redffesn 
Haste,  then,  and  wheel  away  a  shatter'd  worU^ 
Tc  slow-revolvmg  seasons  1  we  would  aee 
(A  sight  to  which  our  eyes  are  strangers  yet)        S2$ 
A  world,  that  doee  not  dread  and  hateliis  hwra, 
And  snfl^r  for  itA  crime ;  would  learn  hew  fiur 
The  creature  is,  that  Gqd  proBonnoea  |foed ; 
How  pleasant  in  itself  what  {leases  him. 
Here  ev'ry  drop  of  honey  hides  a  sting :  690 

Worms  wind  themselves  into  our  sweetest  flow'fs 
And  e'en  thd  joy,  that  haply  some  poor  heart 
Derives  from  Heav'n,  pure  as  the  foimtaui  is, 
Is  sullied  in  the  stream,  taking  a  taint 
From  touch  of  human  Ups,  at  best  impovs.  B35 

O  for  a  iKorld  in  principle  as  clia8t0 
As  this  is  gross  and  selfish !  over  whioh 

*  Nebaioth  and  Kedar/4he  mm  of  Ishmael,  and  orMgeaitafi 

of  the  Arabs  in  the  prophelick  Scripture  here  alluaed  to,  may 
be  reasono(bly  considered  as  reprcse&latives  of  the  Gentnes  at 
large. 
Vol.  II.  13 


I4§  THE  TASK. 

Ciutoin  Midi  prejudice  shall  bear  no  sway, 
Thai  govern  all  things  here,  should'ring  aside 
The  meek  and  modest  Truth,  and  forcing  her        840 
To  seek  a  refuge  fhim  the  tongue  of  Strife 
In  nooks  obseore,  fkr  from  the  ways  of  men ; 
Where  l^olence  shaO  never  lift  the  sword, 
Kar  Canning  justify  the  proud  man*s  wrong, 
Leaving  the  poor  no  remedy  but  tears :  845 

Where  he  that  ffils  an  office,  shall  esteem 
Th*  occasion  it  presents  of  doing  good 
More  than  the  perquisita :  where  Law  shall  speak 
Seldom,  and  never  but  as  Wisdom  prompts 
And  Efpiity ;  not  jealous  more  to  guard  850 

A  worthleM  form  than  to  decide  aright: 
f  Where  Fashion  shall  not  sanctify  abuse. 
Nor  smooth  Good-breeding  (supplemental  grace) 
With  lean  performance  ape  the  work  of  Love  I 

Come,  then,  and,  added  to  thy  many  crowns,      856 
Receive  yet  one,  the  crown.4>LAlUhej«Tt[^, 
Thou  wlio  alone  art  worthy !  It  was  thine 
By  ancient  covenant,  ere  Nature's  birth ; 
Ajid  thou  hast  made  it  thine  by  purchase  since ; 
And  o*erp«id  its  value  with  thy  blood.  800 

Thy  sdbts  proclaim  thee  king ;  and  in  their  hearts 
Thy  title  is  engraven  with  a  pen 
Dipp'd  in  the  fountain  of  eternal  love..^ 
Thy  saints  proclaim  thee  king ;  and  thy  delay 
Gives  eeurage  to  their  foes,  who,  could  they  sea    866 
The  dawn  of  thy  last  advent,  long  desir'd, 
Would  creep  into  the  bowels  of  the  hills, 
And  flee  fbr  safety  to  the  fiUling  rocks.  ^ 
The  very  spirit  of  the  world  is  tir'd         "^ 
>f  its  own  taunting  question,  ask'd  so  long,  870 

"  Where  b  the  promise  of  your  Lord's  ^proach  ?** 
The  infidel  has  shot  his  bolts  away, 
Tfll  his  exhausted  quiver  yielding  none, 
He  gleans  the  blunted  sliafts,  that  have  recoil'^, 
And  aims  them  at  the  sliield  of  Truth  again.  875 


THE  WINTER  WALE  AT  NOON.       Uf7 
The  veil  u  rent,  rent  top  by  priestly  handi, 
Th«t  hicles  divinity  from  mortal  eyee ; 
And  all  the  mysteries  to  faith  propoa'd, 
Insnlted  and  traduc'd  are  cast  aside, 
As  uselesQ}  to  the  moles  and  to  the  bats.  880 

They  now  are  deemed  the  faithfol,  and  are  pnda'di 
Who,  constant  only  in  rejecting  Thee, 
Deny  thy  Godhead  with  a  martyr's  zeal. 
And  quit  their  office  for  their  erroor's  saJsa. 
Blind  and  in  love  with  darkness  !  yet  e'ea  thaw    BBS 
Worthy,  compared  with  sycophants,  who  |uim 
Thy  name  adorlnif,  and  then  preach  tb#e  man; 
Sa  fares  thy  church.    But  how  thy  choreh  umj  §m 
The  world  takes  little  thought.  Who  wiUmaypnadi, 
And  what  they  wilL    All  pastors  are  alike  600  % 

To  wand'ring  sheep,  resolv'd  to  follow  none. 
Two  gods  divide  them  all — FlfUfff'T  and  G^  ; 
For  these  they  live,  they  sacrifice  to  these. 
And  in  their  service  wage  perpetual  war  8M 

With  Conscience  and  with  Thee.  Lust  in  th«ir  luaili^ 
And  mischief  in  their  hands,  they  roam  the  Mftk 
To  prey  upon  each  other ;  stubborn,  fieBoe^ 
High-minded,  foaming  out  their  own  di^^nusa. 
Thy  pr<^het8  speak  of  such ;  and  notiqg  down 
The  Matures  of  the  last  degen'rate  timei^  009 

Exhibit  every  lineament  of  these. 
Come,  then,  and,  added  to  thy  many  efowa% 
Receive  yet  one,  as  radiant  as  the  rest, 
Due  to  thy  last  and  most  effectual  w<»k, 
Thy  word  fulfill'd,.the  conquest  of  a  world ! .         9QB 

He  is  the  happyjoan,  whose  life  e*en  now 
Shows  som^hat  of  that  happio^iiikio  coqb^  » 
Who,  doom'd  to  an  obscure  but  tranquil  stata, 
Is  pleased  with  it,  and,  w6re  he  free  to, choose, 
Would  make  his  fate  his  choice ;  whom  peaoo,|]it  firnil 
Of  virtue,  and  whom  virtue,  firuit  of  &ith,  W 

Prepare  for  happiness )  bespeak  him  one 
Content  indeed  to  sojourn  while  he  must  <« 


M8  THE  TASK. 

Hclow  iho  nk'ieBj  but  having  there  his  lutno. 

The  world  o'erlooks  him  in  her  busy  search  915 

Of  objects  more  illustrious  in  her  yiew  j 

And  occupied  as  earnestly  as  she, 

Though  more  sublimely,  he  overlooks  the  World. 

She  scorns  his  pleasures,  for  sRe  knows  them  not  5 

Uo  seeks  not  hers,  ibr  he  has  proy'd  them  yain.      920 

lie  cannot  skim  the  ground'like  summer  birds 

Pursuing  gilded  flies ;  and  such  he  deems 

ller  hoflouri,  her  emoluments,  her  jojrs. 

Therefore  in  contemplation  is  his  bliss. 

Whose  pow^r  ts  such,  that  whom  she  lifts  from  earth 

She  mi^es  familiar  with  a  Heay*n  unseen,  926 

And  shows  him  glories  3ret  to  be  revealed. 

Not  slothful  he,  though  seeming  unemplojred, 

And.censur'd'ofl'as  useless.    StiUest  stroama 

OH  water  fairest  meadows,  and  the  bird  939 

That  flutters  least  Is  longest  on  the  wing. 

Atdi  him,  indeed,  what  trophies  he  has  rais*d, 

Or  whaX  achievements  of  immortal  fame 

He  por^dfl,  ttn4  he  shall  answer — None.   . 

His  warfare  is  within.    There,  nnfatiguM,  935 

His  fervent  ^irit  labours.    There  he  fights 

And  there  obtains  fresh  triumphs  o*er  himself 

And  noyer-with*ring  wreaths,  compared  with  which, 

The  laurels  that  a  Cttesa  reaps  are  weeds. 

Perhaps  the  seH^approving,  haughty  world,  940 

That  as  she  sweeps  him  with  her  whistling  idlkt 

Scarce  deigns  to  iiotice  him,  or  if  she  see, 

Deems  him  a  cipher  in  the  works  of  God, 

Receives  advantage  from,  his  noiseless  hours, 

Of  which  she  little  dreams.    Perhaps  shAwes      UI5 

Her  sunshine  and  her  rain,  her  blooming  spring 

And  plenteous  harvest,  to  the  pray^r^be  makes. 

When,  Isaac  like,  the  solitary  saint 

tTalks  forth  to  meditate  at  eventide. 

And  think  on  her  wh^  thinks  not  for  herself.  960 

Forgive  him,  then,  thou  bustler  in  concerns 


THE  WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.       149 
Of  little  worth,  tn  idler  in  the  best, 
If,  muthor  of  no  mischief  fmd  lome  good. 
He  seeks  his  proper  happiness  by  means 
That  may  advance^  but  cannot  hinder,  thine.  MS 

'  Nor,  thoujifh  he  tread  the  secret  path  of  life. 
Engage  no  notice,  and  enjoy  mach  ease, 
Aoeount  him  an  encnmbrance  on  the  state» 
Receiving  benefits,  and  rendering  none. 
His  sphere,  though  humble,  if  that  homble  inhere 
Shine  with  his  fair  example ;  and  though  small      961 
His  influence,  if  that  inHiience  all  be  spent 
In  sootluiig.JQjZfiW»  and  in  quenching  strife. 
In  aiding  helpless  indigence  in  works 
From  which  at  least  a  grateful  few  derive  965 

Some  taste  of  comfort  in  a  world  of  wo ; 
Then  let  the  supercilious  great  confess 
He  serves  his  country,  recompenses  well 
The  state  beneath  the  shadow  of  whose  vine 
He  sits  secure,  and  in  the  scale  of  life  970 

Holds  QQ  JgnsUe,  though  a  slighted,  place. 
The  man,  whose  virtues  are  moI^  felt  than  siiD| 
Must  drop  indeed  the  hope  of  publick  praisa; 
But  he  may  boast,  what  few  that  win  it  can, 
That  if  his  country  stand  not  by  his  skill,  975 

At  least  his  follies  have  not  wrought  her  felL 
Polite  Refinement  ofiers  him  in  vain 
Her  golden  tube,  through  which  a  sensual  WoiU 
Draws  gross  impurity,  and  likes  it  well. 
The  neat  conveyance  hiding  all  the  ofifenea.  980 

Not  that  he  peevishly  rejects  a  mode, 

,  Because  that  World  adopU  it.    If  it  bear 
The  stamp  aad  clear  in^ression  of  good  sense, 
AndJlM  not  costly  more  than  of  true  worth 
He  puts  it  on,  and  fer  decorum  sake  98«^ 

Can  wear  it  e'en  as  gracefully  as  she. 

•  Bhe  judges  of  refinement  by  the  eye } 
He,  by  the  test  of  conscience,  and  a  heart 
Not  soon  deceiv'd ;  aware,  that  what  Is  base 
13  • 


150  Tin-:  TASK. 

No  polish  can  make  stcrlsii^  ;  and  that  vice,  99t 

Though  well  pcrfumM  and  elegantly  dre88'd> 

Lil«e  an  unburied  carcass  trick 'd  witli  flcw*rs, 

Is  but  a  garnish'd  nuisance,  fitter  far 

For  cleanly  riddance  than  for  lair  atthre.. 

So  life  glides  smoothly  and  by  stealth  away,  995 

More  golden  than  that  ago  of  fabled  ^oM 

Renown'd  in  ancient  song  ;  not  vex'd  with  care 

Or  stain'd  with  guilt,  beneficent,  approv'd 

Of  God  and  man,  and  peaceful  in  Its  end. 

So  glide  my  life  away  !  and  so  at  last,  ICO© 

My  shafe  of  duties  decently  fulfill'd, 

May  some  disease,  not  tardy  to  perform 

Its  destin'd  office,  yet  with  gentle  stroke, 

Dismiss  me  weary  to  a  safe  retreat, 

Beneath  the  turf  that  I  have  often  trod.  1005 

It  shall  not  griere  me  then,  that  once,  when  ealTcl 

To  dress  a  Sofa  with  the  flow'rs  of  verse, 

I  play*d  awhile,  obedient  to  the  fiiir, 

With  that  light  Task ;  but  soon,  to  please  her  more, 

Whom  flowers  alone  •!  knew  would  little  please,   1010 

Let  fall  th*  nnfinlsh'd  wreath,  and  rov*d  for  fruit ; 

Rov'd  far,  and  gather'd  much ;  sottie  harsh,  'tis  true, 

Pick'd  from  the  thorn?  and  briars  of  reprobf, 

But  wholesome,  well  digested  ;  gratefbi  sonse 

To  palates  that  can  taste  immortal  trotli ;  1015 

Insiplii  else,  and  sure  to  be  despis*d. 

But*all  is  in  His  hand  whose  prai6e  I  seek. 

In  vain  the  poet  sings,  and  the  World  heanr, 

If  he  regard  not,  though  divine  the  theme. 

'Tis  not  in  artfiil  measures,  in  the  chime    '  IWA 

And  idle  tinliling  of  a  minstrel's  lyre, 

To  charm  His  ear  whose  eye  is  on  the  heiurt, 

Whose  frown  can  disappoint  th6  prdndesC  iftrain, 

Whose  approbation — ^prosper  even  mine. 


(  151  ) 

EPISTLE  TO  JOSEPH  HILL,  ESa 


DEAR  JOSEPH— five  end  twenty  yean  afo^ 
Alas,  how  time  escapes  !  'tis  even  so — 
With  frequent  intereoorse,  and  always  sweety 
And  always  friendly,  we  were  wont  to  cheat 
A  tedious  hour-*-and  now  we  never  meet  i 
As  some  grave  gentleman  in  Terence  says, 
('Twas  therefore  much  the  same  in  ancient  days^) 
Good  lack,  we  know  not  what  to-morrow  brings*— 
Strange  fluctuation  of  all  human  things ! 
True.    Changes  will  befall,  and  friends  may  part 
But  distance  only  cannot  change  the  heart ; 
And,  wliere  I  call'd  to  prove  th'  .assertion  true, 
One  proof  should  serve— a  reference  to  you. 

Whence  comes  it,  then,  that  in  the  vane  of  liib| 
.  Though  nothing  have  occurred  to  kindle  strife, 
We  find  the  friends  we  fancied' we  had  won. 
Though  num*roas  once,  reduo'd  to  few  or  non*  ? 
Can  gold  grow  worthless,  that  has  stoed  the  Umeikl 
No ;  gold  they  seem'd,  but  they  were  never  muh. 

Horatio's  servant  onee,  with  bow  and  cringe, 
Swinging  the  parlour  door  upon  its  hinge, 
Dreading  a  negative,  and  overaw'd 
Lest  he  sliouki  trespass,  begg*d  to  go  abroad. 
Go,  fellow^— whither  i>— turning  short  abovii— 
'  Nay — Sti»y  at  home — ^you're  always  going  out. 
Tis  but  a  step,  sir,  just  at  the  street's  end. — 
For  what  ? — An  please  you,  sir,  to  see  a  firiend.— 
A  fiiend !  Horatio  cried,  and  seem'd  to  start — 
Yea,  marry  shalt  thou,  and  with  all  my  heart" 


««*= 


152      EPISTLE  TO  JOSEPH  HILL,  ESQ. 
And  fetch  my  cloak ;  for,  though  the  night  be  raw, 
T'll  lee  him  too — ^the  firbt  I  ever  saw. 

I  knew  the  man,  and  knew  hb  nature  mild. 
And  was  his  plaything  often  when  a  child ; 
Bat  somewhat  at  that  moment  pinch'd  him  closei 
Else  ho  was  seldom  bitter  or  morose. 
Perhaps  his  confidence  just  then  betrayed, 
His  grief  might  prompt  him  with  the  speech  he  madt 
Perhaps  'twas  mere  good  humour  gave  It  birth. 
The  harmless  play  of  pleasantry  and  mirth. 
However  it  was,  his  language,  in  my  mind 
Bespoke  at  least  a  man  that  knew  mankind. 

But  not  to  moralize  too  much,  and  strain, 
To  prove  an  evil,  of  whkh  all  complain, 
(I  hate  long  arguments  verbosely  spun,) 
One  story  more,  dear  Hill,  and  I  have  done. 
Once  on  a  time,  an  emperor,  a  wise  man. 
No  matter  where,  in  China  or  Japan, 
Decreed,  that  whosoever  should  ofiend 
Against  the  well-known  duties  of  a  firiand. 
Convicted  once,  should  ever  after  wear  j^ 

But  half  a  coat,  and  show  his  bosom  bare. 
The  ponidmient  importing  this,  no  doubt. 
That  all  was  naught  within,  and  all  found  out 

O  happy  Britain !  we  have  not  to  fear 
Such  hard  and  arbitrary  measure  here ; 
Else^  could  a  law  like  that  which  I  relate, 
Once  have  the  sanction  of  our  triple  state, 
Som?  few,  that  I  have  known  in  days  of  old. 
Would  run  most  dreadful  risk  of  catching  cold  ; 
While  you,  my  friend,  whatever  wind  should  blow 
Might  traverse  England  safely  to  and  firo, 
An  honest  man,  close  buttoned  to  the  chin. 
Broadcloth  without,  and  a  warm  heart  within. 


,  tl-"f^ 


TIROCINIUM: 


•OB, 


A   REVIEW  OF   SCHOOLa 


Kt^oAaiw  in  raiSsias  op^n  rpoi^ti PLATO. 

kfx^  iroXtTuas  avathts  vtwf  rpofa..,..DiOG.  IAErt. 


TO  THJB 

REV.  WILLIAM  CAWTHORNE  UNWIN, 

miCTOR  OF  STOCK  IV  XSSEly 
THE  TUTOR  OF  HIS  TWO  SOlffl^ 

THE  FOLLOWING 

miCOMMKHDIHO  PBITATZ  TUITION,  IH  PBXPBBSVCB 

T(^AH  EDUCATION  AT  SCHOOL, 

IS  INSCRIBSDi 

BT  HIS  AFFECTIOHATX  FmSKD|  • 

WILLIAM  COWPER 


TIROCINIUM. 


IT  if  not  from  his  form,  in  which  we  tnuse 
Strength  join'd  wkh  beauty,  difnlty  with  griee, 
That  man,  the  master  of  this  globe,  derives 
His  right  of  empire  over  all  that  lives. 
That  form,  indeed,  th*  associate  of  a  mmd  0 

Vast  in  its  pow'rs,  ethereal  in  its  kind— 
That  fonn,  the  labour  of  almighty  skill, 
Fram'd  for  the  service  of  a  freebom  Idll, 
Asserts  prsoedenoe,  and  bespeaks  control. 
Bat  borrows  all  its  grandeur  frem  the  soul.  10 

Here  is  the  state,  the  splendour,  and  the  throne, 
An  intellectual  kingdom,  all  bar  own. 
For  her  the,Mem'ry  fills  her  am^  page 
With  truths  pour'd  down  from  ev'ry  distant  sge  * 
For  her  amasses  an  unbounded  store,  15 

The  wisdom  of  grest  ngtionsi  now  no  more  ; 
Though  laden,  not  encumber'd  with  her  spoil ; 
Laborious,  yet  unconeeiDus  of  h«r  toil ; 
When  copiously  supplied,  then  most  enlarg*d, 
Still  to  be  fed,  and  not  to  be  sureharg'd.  90 

For  her  the  Fancy,  roving  uneonfin'd, 
The  present  muse  of  ev'ry  pensive  mind. 
Works  magick  wonders,  adds  a  brighter  hue 
To  Nature's  scenes  than  Nature  ever  knew. 
At  her  command  winds  rise,  and  waters  roar,  95 

Again  she  lays  them  slumbering  on  the  shore ; 


156  TIROCINIUM  :  OR, 

With  flow'r  and  fruit  the  wilderness  supplies, 

Or  bids  the  rocks  in  ruder  pomp  arise. 

For  her  the  Judgment,  umpire  in  the  strifoi 

That  Grace  and  Nature  have  to  wage  through  life,  30 

Quick-sighted  arbiter  of  good  and  ill, 

Appointed  sage  preceptor  to  the  will, 

Condemns,  approves,  and  with  a  faithful  voice 

Guides  tlio  decisiicu  of  a  doubtful  choice. 

Why  did  the  fiat  of  a  God  give  birth  35 

To  yon  fair  Sun,  and  his  atUndant  Earth  ? 
And  when,  descending,  he  resigns  the  skies, 
Why  takes  the  gentler  Moon  her  turn  to  rise. 
Whom  Oeean  feels  through  ail  his  coiiDUeas  waves, 
And  owns  her  pow*!  on  ev'ry  shore  k9  kvesif  4B 

Why  do  the  seasons  still  enrich  the  year, 
Fruitful  and  young  as  in  their  first  career  ? 
Spring  hangs  her  infant  Uossobib  on  the  trees, 
Rock'd  in  the  cradle  of  the  western  breexe  ; 
Summer  in  haste  the  thriving  oharge  reoeivea         45 
Beneath  the  shade  of  her  expanded  leaves, 
Till  Autumn'ii  fiercer  heats  and  plenteous  dewa 
Die  them  at  last  in  all  their  glowing  hues    ■ 
Twere  wild  profusion  all,  and  bootless  waste, 
Pow'r  misemployed,  mimificence  misplae'd,  50 

Had  not  its  author  difgnified  the  plap. 
And  crown*d  it  with  the  majesty  ot  tOBSL 
Thus  form'd,  thuaplae'd,  intelligent,  and  taught, 
Look  where  he  will,  the  wonders  Ged  has  ^vlrettgftif, 
The  wildest  scomer  of  his  Makers  laws  69 

Finds  in  a  sober  mammit  time  to  pause^ 
To  press  th*  important  qnestigo  oi|  |iis  keart, 
*«  Why  form'd  at  all,  and  wiMFefere  as  thou  art?" 
If  man  be  what  he  ssems,  this  hoor  a  slave, 
The  next  mere  dust  and  ashes  in  the  grave  |  01 

Endu'd  with  reason  only  to  desery 
liis  crimes  and  follies  with  an  aching  eye  •/ 
With  passions,  just  that  he  may  prove,  with  pain. 
The  force  ho  spends  agains*^  their  fury  vain ; 


A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  ICT 

And  if,  soon  after  having  burn'd,  by  tarns,  65 

With  ef*ry  lust  with  which  frail  Nature  bonuu 
His  being  end  where  death  desoWes  the  bond. 
The  tomb  take  all,  and  all  be  blank  beyond  ; 
Then  he  of  all  that  Nature  has  brought  forth. 
Stands  self-impeach'd  the  creature  of  least  worth,    7^ 
And  useless  while  he  lives  and  when  he  dies, 
Briogs  into  doubt  tho  wisdom  of  the  skies. 

Triiths,  that  the  learn'd  pursue  with  eager  thought^ 
Are  not  important  always  9s  dear  bought. 
Proving  at  last,  though  told  in  pompons  strains,        75 
A  childish  waste  of  philosophick  pains ;    . 
Bat  troths,  on  which  depends  our  main  concern, 
That  'tis  our  shame  and  mis'ry  not  to  learn, 
Shine  by  the  side  of  ev'ry  path  we  tread 
With  such  a  lustre,  he  that  runs  may  read.    '  80 

.'Tis  true,  that  if  to  trifle  life  away 
Down  to  the  sunset  of  their  latest  day, 
Then  perish  on  futurity's. wide  shore, 
Liko  fleeting  exhalations,*fbund  no  more, 
Were  all  that  Heav'n  required  of  human  kind,  85 

And  all  the  plan  their  destiny  designed. 
What  nonie  could  rev*rence  all  might  justly  blfune, 
And  man  would  breathe  but  for  his  Maker's  shame. 
But  reason  heard,  and  nature  well  perns'd, 
Al  once  tho  dreaming  mind  is  disabus'd.  90 

If  all  we  find  possessing  earth,  sea,  air. 
Reflect  his  attributes  who  i^c*d  them  tiieire, 
Fulfil  the  purpose,  and  appear  designed 
Proo&  of  the  wisdom  of  the  all-seeiBg  lilind, 
Tis  plain  the  creature,  whom  he  chose  t'  iuTest      95 
With  Idngship  and  dominion  o'er  the  rest, 
Reeeiy'd  his  noUer  nature,  and  was  Made 
Fit  for  the  pow'r  in  which  he  stands  array'd ; 
That  first,  or  last,  hereafter,  if  not  here. 
He  too  might  make  his  author's  wisdom  olear,        100 
Praise  him  on  earth,  or,  obstinately  dumb> 
Suffer  his  justice  in  a  world  to  come. 

Vol.  H.  14 


I 


158  TIROCINIUM  :  OR, 

This  once  believed,  'twere  logick  misappliedi 
To  prove  a  consequence  by  none  denied, 
That  we  are  bound  to  cast  the  minds  of  youth        105 
Betimes  into  the  mould  of  heav'nly  truth, 
That  Unght  of  God  they  may  indeed  be  wise, 
Nor,  ignoranUy  wandering*,  miss  the  skies.* 
In  early  days  the  conscience  has  in  most 
A  quickness,  which  in  later  Iif6  is  lost :  110 

Presenr'd  from  guilt  by  salutary  fears, 
Or,  guilty,  soon  relenting  into  tears. 
Too  careless  of^en,  as  our  years  proceed, 
What  friends  we  sort  with,  or  what  books  we  read, 
Our  parents  yet  exert  a  prudent  care,  115 

To  feed  our  infant  minds  with  proper  fare  ; 
And  wisely  store  the  nurs*ry  by  degrees 
With  wholesome  learning,  yet  acquir'd  with  ease. 
Neatly  secur'd  from  being  soil'd  or  torn 
Beneath  a  pane  of  thin  translucent  horn,  120 

A  book,  (to  please  us  at  a  tender  age 
Tis  caird  a  book,  though  but  a  s'uigle  page.) 
Presents  the  pray'r  the  Saviour  deign*d  to  teach', 
Which  children  use,  and  parsons— when  they  preach. 
Lisping  our  syllables,  we  scramble  next  125 

Through  moral  narrative,  or  sa<5red  text ; 
And  learn  with  wonder  how  this  world  began. 
Who  made,  who  marr*d,  and  who  has  ransom'd  man. 
Points  which,  unless  the  Scripture  made  them  plain, 
The  wisest  heads  might  agitate  in  vain.  130 

0  thou,  whom,  borne  on  fancy's  eager  wing 
Back  to  the  season  of  life's  happy  spring, 

1  ploas'd  remember,  and,  while  mem'ry  yet 
Holds  fast  her  oflSce  here,  can  ne'er  forget ; 
Ingenious  dreamer,  in  whose  well-told  tale  135 
Sweet  fiction  and  sweet  truth  alike  prevail ; 

Whose  hum'rous  vein,  strong  sense,  and  simple  styloj 
May  teach  the  gayest,  make  the  gravest  smile ; 
Witty,  and  well  employ'd,  and  like  thy  Lord, 
Speaking  in  parables  his  slighted  word  ;  140 


A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS  159 

I  name  thee  not,  lest  bo  despis'd  a  name 
Should  move  a  sneer  at  thy  deserved  fame , 
Tet  e*en  in  transitory  life's  late  day, 
That  mingles  all  my  brown  with  sober  gray, 
Revere  the  man,  whose  Pilgrim  marks  the  road,    14S 
And  guides  tho  progress  of  the  soul  to  God. 
Twere  welf  with  most,  if  books,  that  could  engage 
Their  childhood,  pleas'd  them  at  a  riper  age ; 
Tho  man  approving  what  had  charm'd  tho  boy, 
Would  die  at  last  in  comfort,  peace,  and  joy ;  150 

And  not  with  curses  on  his  heart,  who  stole 
Tho. gem  of  truth  from  his  unguarded  sool. 
The  stamp  of  artless  piety  impressed 
By  kind  tuition  on  his  yielding  breast, 
The  youth  now  bearded,  and  yet  pert  and  raw,        15S 
Regards  with  scorn,  though  once  receiv'd  with  awe ; 
And,  warp'd  into  the  labyrinth  of  lies, 
That  babblers,  calFd  philosophers,  devise, 
Blasphemes  his  creed,  as  founded  on  a  plan 
Replete  with  dreams,  unworthy  of  a  man-  IflO 

Touch  but  his  nature  in  its  ailing  part, 
Assert  the  native  evil  of  his  heart. 
His  pride  resents  the  charge,  although  the  proof 
Rise  in  his  forehead,^  and  seem  rank  enough  ; 
Point  to  tlie  cure,  describe  a  Saviour's  crosa  ^65 

As  God's  expedient  to  retrieve  his  loss. 
The  young  apostate  sickens  at  the  view. 
And  hates  it  with  the  malice  of  a  Jew. 

'How  weak  the  barrier  of  mere  Nature  proves, 
Oppos'd  against  the  pleasures  Nature  loves  t  J70 

While  self-betray'd  and  wildfully  undone, 
She  longs  to  yield,  no  sooner  woo*d  than  won. 
Try  now  the  merits  of  this  bless'd  ezcbangey 
Of  modest  truth  for  wit's  eccentrick  range. 
Time  was,  he  clos'd  as  he  began  the  day  176 

With  decent  duty,  not  asham'd  to  pray  : 

*  See  2  Chron.  ch.  xxvi.  ver.  19. 


160  TIROCINIUM :  OR, 

The  practice  was  a  bond  upon  his  heart| 

A  pledge  he  gave  for  a  consistent  part ;   , 

Nor  could  he  dare  presumptuously  displease 

A  pow'r  confess'd  so  lately  on  his  knees.  180 

But  now  farewell  all  legendary  tales, 

The  shadows  fly,  philosophy  prevails ; 

Pray 'r  to  the  winds,  and  caution  to  the  waves  5 

Religion  makes  thee  free  by  nature  slaves ! 

Priests  have  invented,  and  the  world  admir'd  186 

What  knavish  priests  promulgate  as  inspir'd; 

Till  Reason,  now  no  longer  overaw'd. 

Resumes  her  powers,  and  spurns  the  clumsy  frauds 

And,  common  sense  diffusing  real  day. 

The  meteor  of  the  Gospel  dies  away  190 

Such  rhapsodies  our  shrewd  discerning  youth 

Learn  from  expert  inquirers  after  truth  ; 

Whose  only  care,  might  truth  presume  to  speak) 

Is  not  to  find  what  they  profess  to  seek. 

And  thus,  well-tutor'd  only  while  we  share  105 

A  mother's  lectures  and  a  nurse's  care  ; 

And  taught  at  schools  much  mythologick  stuff/ 

But  sound  religion  sparingly  enough ', 

Our  early  notices  of  truth,  disgraced, 

Soon  lose  their  credit,  and  are  all  eflac'd.  200 

Would  you  your  son  should  be  a  sot  or  dunee, 
Lascivious,  headstrong,  or  all  these  at  once ; 
That  in  good  time  the  stripling's  finish'd  taste 
For  loose  expense^  and  fashionable  waste, 
Should  prove  your  ruin  and  his  own  at  last  *,  9D5 

Train  him  in  publick  with  a  mob  of  boys. 
Childish  in  mischief  Only  and  in  noise. 
Else  of  a  mannish  growth,  and  five  in  ten 
In  infidelity  and  lewdness  men. 

*  Tlie  author  beipi  leave  to  ejcplain.  Sensible  that  without 
«uch  knowledj^e  neither  the  ancient  poets  nor  historians  can ' 
be  tasted,  or  indeed  understcT^,  he  does  not  mean  to  c^isure 
the  pains  tliat  are  taken  to  instruct  a  school  boy  in  the  religion 
of  the  Heathen,  but  merely  that  neglect  of  Christie  culture, 
wliich  leaves  him  sharaefuJiy  ignorant  of  his  own. 


z=ri=!i 


A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  ICl 

There  etiall  he  learn,  ere  sixteea  winters  old,         810 
That  authors  are  most  useful,  pawn'd  or  sold ; 
That  pedantry  is  all  that  schools  impart, 
Bat  taverns  teach  the  knowledge  of  the  heart ; 
There  waiter  Dick,  with  Bacchanalian  lays, 
Shall  win  his  heart,  and  have  his  drunken  praise  ,  215 
His  counsellor  and  bosom  friend  shall  prove. 
And  some  street-pacing' harlot  his  first  love. 
Schools,  unless  discipline  were  doubly  strong, 
Detain  their  adolescent  charge  too  long ; 
The  management  of  tyroes  of  eighteen  220 

Is  difficult,  their  punishment  obscene. 
The  stout  tall  captain,  whose  superiour  size 
The  minor  heroes  view  with  envious  eyes. 
Becomes  their  pattern,  upon  whom  they  fix 
Their  whole  attention,  and  ape  all  his  tricks.  225 

His  pride,  that  scorns  t*  obey  or  to  submit. 
With  them  is  courage  }  his  effrontVy,  wit. 
His  wild  excursions,  window-breaking  feats, 
Robb'ry  of  gardens,  quarrels  in  the  streets,  229 

His  hairbreadth  'scapes,  and  all  his  daring  schemes^ 
Transport  them,  and  are  made  their  fav'xite  themes. 
In  little  bosoms  such  achievements  strike 
A  kindred  spark :  they  bum  to  do  the  like : 
Thus  half  accomplished  ere  he  yet  begin 
To  show  the  peeping  down  upon  his  chin ;  235 

And,  as  maturity  of  years  comes  on. 
Made  just  th'  adept  that  you  designed  your  son  , 
T*^  ensure  the  perseverance  of  Lis  course. 
And  give  your  monstrous  project  all  its  force, 
Send  him  to  college.    If  he  there  be  tam*dy  24G 

Or  in  one  article  of  vice  reclaimed. 
Where  no  regard  of  ord*nances  is  shown 
Or  look*d  f<»  BOWy  the  fault  must  be  his  own, 
Some  sneaking  virtue  lutks  in  him,  no  doubt, 
Where  neither  strumpets'  charms  nor  drinking;  bout. 
Nor  gambUng  practices,  can  find  it  out,  246 

Such  youths  of  spirit,  and  that  spirit  too, 
14  » 


=*ll 


m  TIROCINIUM  :  OR, 

Te  nnrs'ries  of  our  boys,  we  owe  to  you : 

Though  from  ourselves  the  mischief  more  proeeedsy 

For  publick  schoote  'tis  puUick  fblly  feeds.  850 

The  slaves  of  custom  and  established  mode^ 

With  packhorse  constancy  we  keep  the  road, 

Crooked  or  straight,  through  quags  or  thorny  delhi, 

True  to  the  jingling  of  oar  leader's  beUs. 

To  follow  foolish  precedents,  and  wink  S56 

With  both  our  eyes,  is  easier  than  to  think ; 

And  such  an  age  as  ours  balks  no  expense. 

Except  of  caution,  and  of  common  sense ; 

Else  sure  notorious  fact  and  proof  so  plain,  ' 

Would  turn  our  steps  into  a  wiser  train.  860 

I  blame  not  those  who,  with  what  care  they  can, 

O'erwatch  the  numerous  and  unruly  clan; 

Or,  if  I  blame,  *tis  only  that  they  dare 

Picomise  a  work,  of  which  they  must  despair. 

Have  ye,  ye  sage  intendants  of  the  whole,  865 

A  ubiquarian  presencp  and  control*- 

Elisha's  eye,  that,  when  Gehazi  strayM, 

Went  with  him,  and  saw  ail  the  game  he  play'd  ? 

Yes — ^ye  are  conscious ;  and  on  all  the  shelve 

Your  pupils  strike  upon,  have  struck  yourselves.     87Q 

Or  if,  by  nature  sober,  ye  had  then, 

Boys  as  ye  were,  the  gravity  of  men ; 

Ye  knew  at  least,  by  constant  proofig  addressed 

To  ears  and  eyes,  the  vices  o€  the  rest. 

But  ye  connive  at  what  ye  cannot  cure,  875 

And  evils,  not  to  be  isndur'd,  endure, 

Lest  pow'r  exerted,  but  without  snccess, 

Bhonld  make  the  little  ye  retain  still  less. 

Yo  once  were  justly  fam'd  for  bringing  ibtth . 

Undoubted  sch^ari^p  and  genuine  worth ;    .        880 

And  in  the  firmament  of  fame  still  shines 

A  glory,  bright  as  that  of  all  the  signs, 

Of  poets  raised  by  you,  and  sts^smen,  and  divipes. 

Peace  to  them  all !  those  brilliant  times  are  fled» 

And  no  such  lights  are  kindling  in  their  stead*        88^; 


I 


A  REVIEW  OF  SCUOOLS.  1C3 

Our  striplings  shine  indeed,  bnt  with  such  rays,    ~ 
As  set  the  midnight  riot  in  n  blaze  ; 
And  seem,  if  judg'd  by  their  expressive  looks. 
Deeper  in  none  than  in  their  surgeons'  books. 

Say,  Muse,  (for  education  made  the  sonj{,  200 

No  muse  can  hesitate,  or  linger  long,) 
What  causes  move  us,  knowing  as  we  must. 
That  these  menagBries  all  fail  their  trust, 
To  send  our  sons  to  scout  and  scamper  there. 
While  colts  and  puppies  cost  us  so  much  care  f      2D5 

Be  it  a  weakness,  it  deserves  some  praise, 
We  love  the  play-place  of  our  early  days ; 
The  scene  is  touching,  and  the  heart  is  stone 
That  feels  not  at  that  sight,  and  feels  at  none. 
The  wall  on  which  we  tried  our  graving  skill,        300 
The  very  name  we  carv'd  subsisting  still ; 
The  bench  on  which  we  sat  while  deep  employed, 
Tho'  mangled,  hock'd,  and  hew*d,  not  yet  destroyed , 
The  little  ones,  unbotton'd,  glowing  hot. 
Playing  our  games,  and  on  the  very  spot ;  306 

As  happy  as  we  once,  to  kneel  and  draw 
The  chalky  ring,  and  knuckle  down  at  taw } 
To  pitch  the  ball  into  the  grounded  hat, 
Or  drive  it  devious  with  a  dext'rous  pat ; 
Tho  pleasing  spectacle  at  once  excites  -  310 

Such  recollection  of  our  own  delights. 
That,  viewing  it,  we  seem  almost  t'  obtain 
Our  innocent  sweet  simple  years  again. 
This  fond  attachment  to'  the  well-known  place, 
Whence  first  we  started  into  life's  long  race,  Zl& 

Maintains  its  hold  with  such  unfailing  sway, 
We  feel  it  e'en  in  age,  and  at  our  latest  day. 
Hark  !  how  the  sire  of  chits,  whose  future  share 
Of  clossick  food  begins  to  be  his  care. 
With  his  own  likeness  plac'd  on  either  knee,  3^ 

Indulges  all  a  father's  heart-felt  glee  ; 
Add  tells  them,  as  he  strokes  their  silver  locks, 
Tl>at  they  must  soon  learn  Iiatin,  and  to  box  ; 


164  TIROCINIUM .  OR, 

Then  turning,  he  regales  his  list'ning  wife 
With  all  the  adventures  of  his  early  Ufb ;  325 

His  skill  in  coachmanship,  or  driving  chaise, 
In  bilking  tavern  bills,  and  spouting  plays; 
What  shifts  he  us'd,  detected  m  a  scrape, 
How  he  was  flogg'd  or  had  the  luck  ^  escape ; 
AVhat  sums  he  lost  at  play,  and  how  ho  sold  330 

Watch,  seals,  and  all— till  aU  his  pranks  are  told. 
Retracing  thus  his  frolicks^  ('tis  a  name 
That  palliates  deeds  of  folly  and  of  shame,) 
He  gives  the  local  bias  all  its  sway ; 
Resolves  that  where  he  play'd  his  sons  shall  play,  335 
And  destines  their  bright  genius  to  be  shown 
Just  in  the  scene  where  he  display'd  his  own. 
•The  meek  and  bashful  boy  will  soon  be  taught. 
To  be  as  bold  and  forward  as  he  ought ; 
The  rude  will  scuflSe  through  with  ease  enough,    340 
Great  schools  suit  best  the  sturdy  and  the  rough. 
Ah  happy  designation,  prudent  choice, 
Th'  event  is  sure  ;  expect  it,  and  rejoice ! 
Soon  see  your  wish  fulfill'd  in  either  child— 
The  pert  made  perter,  and  the  tamo  made  wild.     345 

The  great,  indeed,  by  titles,  riches,  birth, 
Excused  th'  encumbrance  of  more  solid  worth. 
Are  bedt  dispos'd  of  where  with  most  success 
They  may  acquire  that  confident  address, 
Those  habits  of  profuse  and  lewd  expense,  350 

That  scorn  of  all  delights  but  those  of  sense, 
Which,  though  in  plain  plebeians  we  condenm. 
With  so  much  reason  all  expect  from  them. 
But  families  of  less  illustrious  fame, 
Whose  chief  distinction  is  their  spotless  name,        355 
Whose  heirs,  their  honours  none,  their  income  small. 
Must  shine  by  true  desert,  or  not  at  all, 
What  dream  they  of,  that  with  so  little  car^ 
They  risk  their  hopes,  their  dearest  treasure  there  ? 
They  dream  oflittle  Charles  or  William  grac'd      3C0 
With  wig  prolix,  down  flowing  to  his  waist : 


J 


A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  165 

HSuty  see  th'  attentive  crowds  hia  t&lents  draw : 
They  hear  him  sp^ak-^the  oracle*  of  law. 
The  father,  who  designs  his  babe  a  priest, 
Dreams  him  episcopally  such  at  least ;  365 

And  while  the  playftil  jockey  scours  the  Voom 
Briskly,  astride  upon  the  parlour  broom, 
[n  fancy  sees  him»more  superbly  ride 
In  coach  with  purp^le  lin'd,  and  mitres  on  its  Btdto. 
Events  improbable  and  strange  as  these,  370 

Which  only  a  parental  eyeloresees, 
A  poblick  school  6hali  brittor  to  paafe  with  ease. 
But  how !  Besides  such  virtue  in  thtit  air, 
As  must  create  an  hppetlte  for  pray'r  ? 
And.  will  it  breathe  into  him  all  the  seeal,  375 

That  candidates  for  such  a  prize  should  feel, 
To  take  the  lead  and  be  the  foremost  still 
In  all  true  Worth  and  literary  skill  ? 
"  Ah,  blind  to  bright  futurity,  untaught 
The  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  dull  of  thought  r* 
Church-ladders  are  not  always  mounted  best  380 

Bjr  Earned  clerks,  and  Latinists  professed. 
Th'  exalted  prize  demands  an  upward  look^ 
Not  to  be  found  by  poring  on  a  book. 
Small  skill  in  Latin,  and  still  less  in  Greek,  3S5 

Is  more  than  adequate  to  all  I  seek. 
Let  ©rudition  grace  him  or  not  grace, 
I  give  the  bauble  but  the  second  place  ; 
His  wealth,  fame,  honours,  all  thtft  I  intend. 
Subsist  and  centre  in  one  point — a  friend.  390 

A  friend,  whate'er  he  studies  or  neglects. 
Slum  give  him  consequence,  heal  all  defects. 
fiis  intercourse  with  peers  and  sons  of  peers. 
There  ^awns  the  splendour  of  his  future  years : 
In  that  bright. quarter  his  propitious  skies  395, 

Shall  blush  betimes,  and  there  his  glory  rise. 
Your  Lordship  and  Your  Grace  !  what  school  can  teacli 
A  rhet'rick  equal  to  those  parts  of  speech  ! 
What  need  of  Homer's  verse,  or  TuUy's  prose, 


166  TIROCINIUM :  OR, 

Sweet  interjections  !  if  he  learn  but  those  ?  400 

Let  rcv'rend  churls  his  ignorance  rebuke. 

Who  starv'd  upon  a  dog*s-ear'd  Pentateuch, 

The  parson  knows  enough,  who  knows  a  duke." 

Egregious  purpose  !  worthily  begun 

In  barbarous  prostitution  of  your  son ;  4Ci5 

Press'd  on  his  part  by  means  that  would  disgraoe 

A  scriv'ner's  clerk,  or  footman  out  of  place, 

And  ending,  if  at  last  its  end  be  gain'd, 

In  sacrilege,  in  God's  own'house  profan'd  ! 

It  may  succeed  ;  and,  if  his  sins  should  call  410 

For  more  than  common  punishment,  it  shall ; 

The  wretch  shall  rise,  and  be  the  thing  on  earth 

Least  qualified  in  honour,  learning,  worth, 

To  occupy  a  sacred  awfiil  post. 

In  which  the  best  and  worthiest  tremble  most.       415 

The  royal  letters  are  a  thing  of  course, 

A  king,  that  would,  might  recommend  his  horee  ; 

And  deans,  no  doubt,  and  chapters  with  one  voice. 

As  bound  in  duty,  would  confirm  the  choice. 

Behold  your  bishop ;  well  he  plays'  his  part,  420 

Christian  in  name,  and  infidel  in  heart, 

Ghostly  in  office,  earthly  in  his  plan, 

A  slave  at  court,  elsewhere  a  lady's  man. 

Dimib  as  a  senator,  and  as  a  priest 

A  piece  of  mere  church  furniture  at  best ;  435 

To  live  estrang'd  from  God  his  total  scope, 

And  his  end  sure,  witbbut  one  glimpse  of  hope. 

But  fair  although  and  feasible  it  seem. 

Depend  not  much  upon  your  golden  dream : 

For  Providence,  that  seems  concem'd  t'  exempt     430 

The  hallow'd  bench  fi;om  absolute  contempt, 

Jn  spite  of  all  the  wrigglers  into  place. 

Still  keeps  a  seat  or  two  for  worth  and  grace ; 

And  therefore  'tis  that  though  the  sight  be  rare, 

Wo  sometimes  see  a  Lowth  or  Bagot  there.  43S 

Besides,  school-friendships  are  not  always  found, 

Though  fair  in  promiso,  permanent  and  sound  ; 


A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  lift 

The  most  disinterested  and  Tirtuous  minds, 
In  early  years  connected,  time  unbinds. 
New  situations  give  a  diflTrent  cast  440 

Of  habit,  inclination,  temper,  taste ; 
And  he  that  seem'd  our  counterpart  at  first, 
Soon  shows  the  strong  similitude,  revers'd. 
Yeung  heads  are  giddy,  and  young  hearts  are  warm. 
And  make  mistakes  for  manhood  to  reform.  445 

Boys  are  at  best  but  pretty  buds  unblown, 
Whose  scent  and  hues  are  rather  guessed  than  known ; 
Each  dreams  that  each  is  just  what  he  appears, 
But  learns  his  erronr  in  maturer  years, 
When  disposition,  like  a  sail  unfurPd,  450 

Shows  all  its  rents  and  patches  to  the  world 
If^  therefore,  e'en  when  honest  in  design, 
A  boyish  friendship  may  so  soon  decline, 
Twere  wiser  sure  t*  inspire  a  little  heart 
With  just  abhorrence  of  so  mean  a  part,  455 

Than  set  your  son  to  work  at  a  vile  trade 
For  wages  so  uvlikely  to  be  paid. 

Our  publick  hives  of  puerile  resort, 
That  are  of  chief  and  most  approved  report. 
To  such  base  hopes,  in  many  a  sordid  soul,  450 

Owe  their  repute  in  part,  but  not  the  whole. 
A  principle,  whose  proud  pretensions  pass 
Unquestioned,  though  the  jewel  be  but  glass — 
That  with  a  world,  not  often  over  nice. 
Ranks  as  a  virtue,  and  is  yet  a  vice  ;  466 

Or  rather  a  gross  compound,  justly  tried, 
Of  envy,  hatred,  jealousy,  and  pride—" 
Contributes  most  perhaps  t'  enhance  their  fame 
And  emulation  is  its  specious  name. 
Boys,  once  on  fire  with  that  contentions  zeal,         470 
Feel  all  the  rage  that  female  rivals  feel ; 
The  prize  of  beauty  in  a  woman's  eyes 
Not  brighter  than  in  theirs  the  scholar's  prize 
The  spirit  of  that  competition  bums 
With  all  varieties  of  ill  by  turns  j  478 


m  TlROClNlUxM:  OR, 

E^ch  vainlj  magnifies  lus  own  success, 

Resents  his*fellow'8,  wisbos  it  were  less,  • 

Emits  in  his  miscarriage  if  he  fail. 

Deems  lis  reward  too  great  if  he  prevail, 

And  labours  to  surpass  him  day  and  night,  480 

Less  for  improvement  than  to  tickle  spite. 

The  spur  is  pow'rlbl,  and  i  grant  its  force  $ 

(t  ^icks  the  genius  forward  in  its  course, 

Allows  short  time  for  pfaiy,  and  none  for  sloth ; 

And,  felt  alike  by  each,  advances  both :  485 

But  judge,  where  so  much  evil  intervenes. 

The  end,  though  plausible,  not  worth  the  means. 

"Vlfftigh,  for  a  moment,  classieal  desert 

Against  a  heart  deprav'd  and  temper  hurt ; 

Hurt,  too,  perhaps,  for  life  ;  for  early  wrong,  49Q 

Done  to  the  noblSi  part,  aflSscts  it  long  ; 

And  you  are  stanch  indeed  in  learning's  eaciBOy 

If  you  can  crown  a  discipline,  that  draws 

Such  mischiefs  after  it  with  much  applause. 

Connexion  formed  for  interest,  and  endear 'd  491 

By  selfish  views,,  thus  censur'd  und  eashiejt'd ; 
And  emul^on,  as  engendering  hate, 
][>qom'd  to  ^  no  less  ignominious  fate  : 
The  props  <»f  such  proud  seminaries  fall. 
The  Jachin  and  the  Boaz  of  them  all.  W 

Great  schools  rejected  then,  as  those  that  swell 
Beyond  a  size  that  can  be  manag'd  well> 
3ball  royal  institutioniB  miss  the  bays, 
And  small  academies  win  all  the  praise  ? 
Force  not  my  drift  beyound  its  ji^st  intent,  '  ffOS 

I  praise  a  school  as  Pope  a  government ; 
So  take  my  judgn>eB(«in  his  language  dresii'd^ 
**  Whatever  is  best  admimsterVi  is  best." 
Few  boys  are  bor^  with  talents  that  ejEcel, 
But  all  are  capable  of  living  well ',   .       '  5li 

Then  ask  not,  Whether  limited  or  large  ? 
But,  Watch  thoy  strictly,  or  neglect  their  charge? 


A  REVIEW  0*'  SCHOOLS.  KP 

If  anxious  only,  that  their  boyif  may  leam^ 
While  morals  languish,  a  despis'd  coneerov 
The  great  and  small  deserve  one  comioon  blamty  51ft 
Different  in  size,  hut  in  eilect  the  same. 
Much  zeal  in  virtue  s  cause  all  teachers  boMi, 
Though  motives  of  mere  lucre  sway  the  most ; 
Therefore  in  towns  and  cities  they  abound, 
For  there  the  game  they  seek  is  easiest  Ibund  |       &80 
Though  there,  in  spite  of  all  that  care  can  dop 
Trapf  to  catch  youth  are  more  abundant  too. 
If  shrewd,  and  of  a  well-constructed  brais, 
Keen  in  pursuit,  and  vig'rous  to  retain, 
Tour  son  come  forth  a  prodigy  of  skill ;  099 

As,  wheresoever  taught,  so  form'd  he  wiU  ; 
The  pedagogue,  with  self-complacent  air, 
Claims  more  than  half  the  praise  as  his  due  shtro. 
But  if,  with  a}l  his  genius,  ho  betray,  '^ 

Not  more  intelligent  than  loose  and  gay,  690 

Such  vicious  habits  as  disgrace  liis  name, 
Threaten  his  health,  his  fortune,  and  his  fame ; 
Though  want  of  duo  Restraint  alone  have  bred 
The  symptoms, .that  you  see  with  so  much  dread: 
Unenvied  there,  he  may  sustain  alone  535 

The  whole  reproach,  the  fault  was  all  hifl  own. 

O  'tis  a  sight  to  bo  with  joy  perus'd. 
By  all  whom  sentiment  has  not  abus'd  , 
New-fangled  sentiment,  the  boasted  grace 
Of  thpse  who  never  feel  in  the  right  place ;  540- 

A  sight  Burpass'd.by  none  that  we  can  sboir. 
Though  Vestris  on  one  leg  still  shine  bek>TF ; 
A  father  blest  with  an  ingenuous  son, 
Father,  and  friend,  and  tutor,  all  iii  one  ; 
How ! — ^turn  again  to  tales  long  since  forgot,  545 

iElsop,  and  Phasdrus,  and  the  rest  ?-^Why  not  ? 
He  will  nut  blush,  ^bat  has  a  father's  heart* 
To  take  in  childish  plays  a  childish  part ; 
But  bends  his  stqrdy  back  to  any  toy 
That  youth  takes  pleasure  in,  to  ploaso  his  boy  ;     550 

Vol.  II.  !•''» 


wo  TIROCINIUM:  OR, 

ThAi  why  reMgn  into  a  ttr&nger's  h&nd 

A  task  as  much  within  your  own  command, ' 

That  God  and  Nature,  and  your  interest  too 

Seem  with  one  voice  to  delegate  to  you  ? 

Why  hire  a  lodging  in  a  house  unknown  556 

For  one,  whoee  tend'rest  thoughts  all  hover  rofoml 

your  own  ? 
This  second  weaning,  needless  as  it  is. 
How  does  it  lac'rate  both  your  heart  and  his ! 
Th*  indented  stick,  that  loses  day  by  day 
Notch  after  notch,  till  all  are  smoothed  away,  500 

Bears  witness,  long,  ere  his  dismission  come. 
With  what  intense  desire  he  wants  his  home. 
But  though  the  jojrs  he  hopes  beneath  your  roof 
Bid  fair  enough  to  answer  in  the  proof. 
Harmless,  and  safe,  and  nat'ral,  as  they  are  M5 

A  disappointment  waits  him  even  there  : 
Arriv'd,  he  feels  an  unezpeoted  change. 
He  blushes,  hangs  his  head,  is  shy  and  strange  ; 
No  longer  takes,  as  once,  with  fearless  ease, 
His  fav'rite  stand  between  his  father's  knees,  570 

But  seeks  the  corner  of  some  distant  seat. 
And  eyes  the  door,  and  watches  a  retreat ; 
And,  least  familiar  where  he  should  be  most, 
Feels  all  his  happiest  privileges  lost. 
Alas,  poor  boy  ! — the  natuta)  effect  675 

Of  love  by  absence  chilled  into  respect.  ' 

Say,  what  accomplishments,  at  school  aequir*dy 
Brings  he  to  sweeten  fruits  so  undesirM  ? 
Thou  well  deserv*st  an  alienated  son, 
Unless  thy  conscious  heart  acknowledge — none  ;    661 
None  that,  in  thy  domestick  snug  recess. 
He  had  not  made  his  own  with  more  address. 
Though  some,  perhaps,  that  shock  thy  feeling  mind. 
And  better  never  leam'd,  or  left  behind. 
Add,  too,  that,  thus  estranged,  thou  canst  obtun      C85 
By  no  kind  arts  his  confidence  again  ; 


A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS. 
I'hat  here  begins  with  most  that  long  eonipUint 
Of  filial  frankness  lost,  and  love  grown  faint ; 
Which,  oft  neglected  in  life's  waning  yean 
A  parent  poors  into  regardless  ears. 

Like  caterpillars  dangling  under  trees 
By  slender  threads,  and  swinging  in  the  bieezoi 
Which  filthily  bewray  and  sore  disgrace 
The  boughs  in  which  are  bred  th'  unseemly  race  s 


m 


600 


605 


While  ev'ry  worm  industriously  weaves 

And  winds  his  web  about  the  rivell'd  leaves ; 

So  num'rous  are  the  follies  that  annox 

The  mind  and  heart  of e^ry  sprightly  boy; 

Imaginations  noxious  and  perverse. 

Which  admonition  can  alone  disperse,  600 

Th*  encroaching  nuisance  asks  a  faithful  hand> 

Patient,  affectionate,  of  high  command. 

To  check  the  procreation  of  a  breed 

Sure  to  exhaust  the  plant  on  which  they  feed. 

Tis  not  enough,  that  Greek  or  Roman  page,         606 

At  stated  hours,  his  freakish  thoughts  engage ; 

E'en  in  his  pastimes  he  requires  a  friend 

To  warn,  and  teach  him  safely  to  unbend 

O'er  all  his  pleasures  gently  to  preside. 

Watch  his  emotions,  and  control  their  tide ;  610 

And  levying  thus,  and  with  an  easy  sway, 

A  tax  of  profit  from  his  vety  play, 

T*  impress  a  value  not  to  be  eras'd. 

On  moments  squander'd  else,  and  running  all  to  waste 


And  seems  it  nothing  in  a  father's  eye. 
That  unimprov'd  thrjse  many  moments  fly 
And  is  he  well  content  his  son  should  find 
No  nourishment  to  feed  his  growing  mind, 
But  conjugated  verbs,  and  nouns  declin'd  ? 
For  such  is  all  the  mental  food  purvey'd 
By  publick  hacknies  in  the  schooling  trade } 
Who  feed  a  pupil's  intellect  with  store 
Of  syntax,  truly,  but  with  little  more ; 


615 


620 


in  TIROCINIUM :  OR, 

Oismiss  their  caroSi  when  tltey  dismiss  their  floek. 

Machines  themselves,  and  governed  by  a  elook.       CBS 

Perhaps  a  father,  bless'd  with  any  brainli, 

Would  deem  it  no  abuse,  or  waste  of  pains, 

T'  improve  this  diet,  at  no  great  expense, 

With  sav'ry  truth  and  wholesome  common  sense : 

To  lead  bis  son,  for  prospects  of  defight,  €00 

To  some  not  steep,  though  philosophick  height, 

Thence  to  exhibit  to  his  wondering  eyes 

Ton  circling  worlds,  their  distance  and  their  size, 

The  moons  of  Jove,  and  Saturn's  belted  ball, 

And  the  harmonious  order  of  (hem  all ;  6^ 

To  show  him  in  an  insect  or  a  flow*r 

Soch  microscopick  proof  of  dull  and  powY, 

As,  hid  from  ages  past,  CU>d  now  displays, 

To  combat  atheists  with  in  modem  days ; 

To  spread  the  earth  before  him,  and  commend  ^      640 

With  designation  of  the  fingers*  end, 

Its  various  parts  to  his  attentive  note. 

Thus  bringing  home  to  him  the  most  remote  ; 

To  teach  his  heart  to  glow  with  gen'rous  flame, 

Caught  from  the  deeds  of  men  of  ancient  fame;     643 

And,  more  than  all,  with  commendation  due^ 

To  set  some  living  worthy  in  his  view. 

Whose  fair  example  may  at  once  inspire 

A  wish  to  copy  what  he  muGit  admire. 

Such  knowledge  gained  betimes,  and  which  appears 

Though  solid,  not  too  weighty  for  his  years,    •       651 

Sweet  in  itself,  and  not  forbidding  sport, 

When  health  demands  it,  of  athletick  sort, 

Would  make  him — ^what  some  lovely  boys  have  been, 

And  more  than  one,  perhaps,  that  I  have  seen—    656 

An  evidence  and  reprehension  both 

Of  the  mere  school-boy's  lean  and  tardy  growth 

Art  thou  a  man  professionally  tied, 
Witli  all  thy  faculties  elsewhere  applied. 
Too  busy  to  intend  a  meaner  care,  660 

Than  how  t'  enrich  thyself,  and  next  thine  heir : 


A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  17% 

Or  art  thou  (as,  though  rich,  perhaps  thou  art ) 
But  poor  in  knowledge,  having  none  t*  impart' 
Behold  that  figure,  neat,  though  plainly  olad ; 
His  sprightly  mingled  with  a  shade  of  sad ;  MB 

Not  of  a  nimble  tongoe,  though  now  and  then 
Heard  to  aKioulate  like  other  men ; 
No  jester,  and  yet  lively  in  discourse,  • 

His  phrase  well  chosen,  clear,  and  full  offeree 
And  his  address,  if  not  quite  French  in  ease,  •         670 
Not  English  stiff,  but  frank,  and  form'd  to  please . 
Low  in  the  world  because  he  scorns  its  arts  ; 
A  man  of  letters,  manners,  morals,  puts ; 
Unpatronis'd,  and  therefore  little  known ; 
Wise  for  himself  and  his  few  friends  alone —  9IS 

In  him  thy  well-appointed  proxy  see, 
Arm*d  for  a  work  too  difficult  for  thee  ; 
Prepar'd  by  taste,  by  learning,  and  true  worth, 
To  form  thy  son,  to  strike  his  genius  forth ; 
Beneath  thy  roof,  beneath  thine  eye,  to  prove         9&$ 
The  force  of  discipline  when  back'd  by  love  ; 
To  double  all  thy  pleasure  in  thy  child. 
His  mind  inform'd,  his  morals  undefil'd. 
Safe  under  such  a  wing,  the  boy  shall  show 
No  spots  contracted  among  grooms  below,  G85 

Nor  taint  his  speech  with  meannesses  deugn'd 
By  footman  Tom  for  witt^  and  refin'd. 
There,  in  his  commerce  with  the  liv'ried  herd, 
Lurks  the  contagion  chiefly  to  be  fear*d ; 
For  since,  (so  fashion  dictates,)  all  who  claim  090 

A  lugher  than  a  more  plebeian  fame. 
Find  it  expedient,  come  what  mischief  may, 
To  entertain  a  thief  or  two  in  pay, 
.(And  they  that  can  afford  th'  expense  of  more. 
Some  hiAf  a  dozen,  and  some  half  a  score,)  60S 

Great  cause  occurs,  to  save  him  from  a  band 
So  sure  to  spoil  him,  and  so  near  at  hand ; 
A  point  secur'd,  if  once  he  be  supply'd 
With  some  such  Mentor  always  at  his  side. 
15* 


174- f  TlROClNlUxM  :  OH,      * 

Are  such  men  rare  ?  perhaps  they  would  ttbound,  708 

Were  occupation  easier  to  be  found,  * 

Were  education,  else  so  sure  to  fail, 

Colo^cted  on  a  manageablo  scale, 

And  schools,  that  have  outliy'd  all  just  esteem^ 

Exchanged  for  the  secure  domestick  scheme.—        706 

But,«having  found  him,  be  thou  duke  or  eari^ 

Show  thou  hast  sense  enough  to  prize  the  pearl, 

Aw},  as  thou  wouldst  th'  adyancement  of  Uiine  hek 

In  all  good  Acuities  beneath  his  care, 

Respect,  as  is  but  rational  and  just,  718 

A  man  deem'd  worthy  of  so  dear  a  trust. 

Despis'd  by  thee,  what  more  can  he  expect 

Fi^m  youthful  iblly  than  the  same  neglect  ? 

A  flat  and  fatal  negative  obtains, 

That  instant,  upon  all  his  future  pains  ;  715 

His  lessons  tire,  his  mild  rebukes  offend. 

And  all  th'  instructions  of  thy  son's  best  friend 

A^  a  stream  ohok'd)  or  trickling  to  no  end. 

Doom  him  not  then  to  solitary  meals ; 

But  recollect  that  he  has  sense,  and  feels  :  790 

And  that,  possessor  of  a  soul  refin'd. 

An  upright  heart  and  cultivated  mind, 

His  post  not  mean,  his  talents  not  unknown, 

He  deems  it  hard  to  vegetate  alone. 

And,*if  admitted  at  thy  board  he  sit,  725 

Account  him  no  just  mark  for  idle  wit ; 

Offend  not  him,  whom  modesty  restrains 

From  repartee,  with  jokes  that  he  disdains  •, 

Much  less  transfix  his  feelings  with  an  oath  ; 

Nor  frown,  unless  he  vanish  with  the  cloth.  ^^30 

And,  trust  me,  his  utility  may  reach 

To  more  than  he  is  hir'd  or  bound  to  teach ; 

MiKh  trash  unutter'd,  and  some  ills  undone, 

Through  rev'rence  of  the  censor  of  tl>y  son. 

But,  if  thy  table  be  indeed  unclean,  735 

Foul  with  excess,  and  with  disoiurse  obseena* 


=J 


A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  176 

And  thou  a  wret^,  whom,  foirwing  her  owa^ia 
The  world  ftccounts  an  honoarable  man, 
Because  forsooth  thy  courage  has  been  tried 
And  stood  the  test,  perhaps  on  the  wrong  nde ;      748 
Though  thou  hadst  never  grace  enough  to  proTO 
That'any  thing  but  vice  could  win  thy  love ; — 
Or' hast  thou  a  polite,  card-playing  wife, 
Chain'd  to  the  routs  that  she  frequents  for  life ; 
Who,  just  when  industry  begins  to  snore,  74§ 

Flies,  wing'd  with  joy,  to  some  coach-crowded  door; 
And  thrice  in  every  winter  throngs  thine  own 
With  half  the  chariots  and  sedans  in  town, 
Thyself  meanwhile  e'en  shifting  as  thoumayst,* 
Not  very  sober  though,  nor  very  chaste ;  760 

Or  is  thine  house,  though  less  superb  thy  rank 
If  not  a  scene  of  pleasure,  a  mere  blank, 
And  thou  at  best,  and  in  thy  sob'rest  mood, 
A  trifler,  vaSn  and  empty  of  all  good ; 
Though  mercy  for  thyself  thou  canst  have  none,    766 
Hear  Nature  plead,  show  mercy  to  thy  son.  ^ 

Sav^  from  his  home,  where  every  day  brings  forth 
Some  mischief  fatal  to  his  future  worth, 
Find  him  a  better  in  a  distant  spot^ 
Within  some  pious  pastot's  humble  cot,  760 

Where  vile  example,  (yours  I  chiefly  mean, 
The  most  seducing,  and  the  oft'nest  seen,) 
May  never  more  be  stamped  upon  his  brdast, 
Nor  yet  perhaps  incurably  impressed. 
Where  early  rest  makes  early  rising  sure,  765 

Disease  or  comes  not,  or  finds  easy  cure  * 
Prevented  much  by  diet  neat  and  plain ; 
Or,  if  it  enter,  won  starr'd  out  again : 
Where  all  th'  attention  of  his  faithfbl  host. 
Discreetly  litnlted  to  two  at  most,  770 

May  raise  sticfa  fruits  as  shall  reward  hit  care, 
And  not  at  last  evaporate  in  ur; 
Where,  stillness  aiding  study,  and  his  mind 
Serene,  and  to  his  duties  much  incliu'd. 


176  TIROCINIUM .  OR, 

Not  occupied  m  day-droaius,  as  at  home,  775 

or  pleasures  past,  or  follies  yet  to  come, 

His  virtuous  toil  may  terminate  at  last 

In  settled  habit  and  decided  taste. — 

But  whom  do  I  advise  ?  the  fashion  led, 

Th'  incorrigibly  wrong,  the  deaf,  the  dead^  *780 

Whom  care  and  cool  deliberation  suit 

Not  better  much  than  spectacles  a  brute ; 

Who,  if  their  sons  some  slight  tuition  share. 

Deem  it  of  no  great  moment  whose,  or  -vi^re; 

Too  proud  t'  adopt  the  thoughts  of  one  unknown  765 

And  much  too  gay  t'  have  any  of  their  own. 

But  courage,  man !  methought  the  muse  replied 

Mankind  are  various,  and  the  world  is  wide  : 

The  ostridi,  silliest  of  the  featlier'd  kind, 

And  form'd  of  God  without  a  parent's  tnind,  790 

Commits  her' eggs,  incautious,  to  the  dost,' 

Forgetful  that  the  foot  may  crush  the  trust ; 

And,  while  on  publick  nurseries  they  rely, 

Not  knowing,  and  too  oft  not  caring,  why,. 

Irrational  in  what  they  thus  prefer  795 

No  few,  that  would  seem  wise,  resemble  her.  * 

But  all  are  not  alike.    Thy  warning  voice 

May  here  and  there  prevent  erroneous  choice  ; 

And  some  perhaps,  who,  busy  as  they  are, 

Yet  make  their  progeny  their  dearest  care,  800 

(Whose  hearts  will  ache,  once  told  what  ills  maj 

reach 
Their  offspring,  left  upon  so  wild  a  beach,) 
Will  need  no  stress  of  argument  t*  enforce 
Th'  expedience  of  a  less  advent'rous  course ; 
The  rest  will  slight  thy  counsel  or  condemn  ;         805 
But  they  have  human  feelings — turn  to  tlum.  ' 

To  you  then,  tenants  of  life's  middle  state, 
Securely  plac'd  between  the  small  and  great, 
Whose  character,  yet  undebauch'd,  retains 
Two  tliirds  of  all  th©  virtue  that  remains,  8W 


A  REVIEW  or  SCHOOLS.  177 

Who,  wise  yourselves,  desire  your  son  should  learn 
Your  wisdom  and  your  ways — to  you  1  turn. 
Look  round  you  on  a  world  perversely  blind : 
See  what  contempt  is  fall'n  on  human  kind ; 
See  wealth  abus'd,  and  dignities  misplac'di  816 

Great  titles^  offices,  and  trusts  disgrac'd, 
Long  lines  of  ancestry,  renown'd  of  old. 
Their  noble  quaUties  all  quenched  and  cold  ; 
See  Bedlam's  closeted  and  hand-cnfiTd  charge 
Surpassed  in  frenzy  by  the  mad  at  large  ;  820 

Sad  great  commanders  making  war  a  trade , 
Great  lawyers  lawyers  without  study  made : 
Churchmen,  in  whose  esteem  their  best  employ 
Is  odious,  and  their  wages  all  their  joy ; 
Who,  far  enough  from  furnishing  their  shelves       825 
With  gospel  lore,  turn  infidels  themselves ; 
See  womanhood  despis'd,  and  manhood  diam'd^ 
With  infamy  too  nauseous  to  be  nam'd  ; 
f^ops  at  all  comers,  lady-like  in  mien, 
Civeted  fellows,  smelt  ere  they  are  seen,  830 

Else  coarse  and  rude  in  manners,  and  their  tongue 
On  fire  with  curses,  and  with  nonsense  hung. 
Now  flushed  with  drunkenness,  now  with  whoredom 

pale. 
Their  breath  a  sample  of  last  night's  regale  ; 
See  volunteers  in  all  the  vilest  arts  83$ 

Man  well  endow'd,  of  honourable  parts, 
Design'd  by  Nature  wise,  but  self-made  fools , 
All  these,  and  more  like  these,  were  bred  at  schoolfy 
And  if  it  chance,  as  soi^etimes  chance  it  will, 
That  though  school-bred  the  boy  be  virtuous  stiO ;  840 
Such  rare  exceptions,  shining  in  the  dark 
Prove,  rather  than  impeach,  the  just  remark  : 
As  hero  and  there  a  .twinkling  star  descried. 
Servos  but  to  show  how  black  is  all  beside. 
Now  look  on  him,  whose  very  voice  in  tone  845 

/ust  echoes  thine,  whose  features  are  thine  owik| 


178  TIROCINIUM :  OR, 

kud  stroke  his  polish'd  cheek  of  purest  red, 
And  lay  thine  hand  upon  his  flaxen  head, 
And  say,  My  boy,  th'  unwelcome  hour  is  come, 
When  thou,  transplanted  from  tliy  genial  home,     851 
Must  find  a  colder  soil  and  bleaker  air, 
And  trust  for  safety  to  a  stranger's  care  } 
What  character,  what  turn  thou  wilt  assume 
From  constant  converse  with  I  know  not  whom  > 
Who  there  will  court  thy  friendship,  with  what  Tiewii 
And,  artless  as  tliou  art,  whom  thou  wilt  choose ;  856 
Though  much  depends  on  what  thy  choice  shall  be^ 
Is  all  chance-medley,  and  unknown  to  me. 
Canst  thou,  the  tear  just  trembling  on  thy  lidS| 
And  while  the  dreadful  risk  foreseen  forbids ;         8G0 
Free  too,  and  under  no  constraining  force, 
Unless  the  sway  of  custom  warp  thy  course ; 
Lay  such  a  stake  upon  the  losing  side 
Merely 'to  gratify  so  blind  a  guide  ? 
Thou  canst  not !  Nature,  pulUng  at  thine  heart,     865 
Condemns  th'  unfatherly,  th'  imprudent  part. 
Thou  wouldst  not,  deaf  to  Nature's  tend'rest  ploa. 
Turn  him  adrift  upon  a  rolling  sea, 
Nor  say.  Go  thither j  conscious  that  thcTO  lay 
A  breed  of  asps  or  quicksands  in  his  way ;  870 

Then,  only  govern'd  by  the  self-same  rule 
Of  nat'ral  pity,  send  him  not  to  school. 
No — guard  him  better.    Is  he  not  thine  own, 
Thyself  in  miniature,  thy  flesh,  thy  bone  ? 
And  hop'st  thou  not,  ('tis  ev'ry  father's  hope,)        875 
That  since  thy  strength  must  with  thy  years  elopey 
And  thou  wilt  need  some  comfort  to  assuage 
Health's  last  farewell,  a  staff  in  thine  old  age, 
That  then,  in  recompense  of  all  thy  cares, 
Thy  child  shall  show  respect  to  thy  gray  hairs,       860 
Befriend  thee,  of  all  other  friends  oereflt. 
And  give  thy  life  its  only  cordial  lefl ! 
Aware  then  how  much  danger  intervenes. 
To  compass  that  good  end  forecast  the  means, 


A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  ^  179 

His  heait,  now  passive,  yields  to  thy  command ;    88? 
Secure  it  thine,  its  key  is  in  thine  hand. 
If  thou  desert  thy  charge,  and  throw  it  wide. 
Nor  heed  what  guest  there  enter  and  abide, 
Complain  not  if  attachments  lewd  and  base^ 
Supplant  thee  in  it,  and  usurp  thy  place  890 

But,  if  thou  guard  its  &cred  chambers  sure 
From  vicious  inmates  and  delights  impure, 
Either  his  gratitude  shall  hold  him  fast, 
And  keep  him  warm  and  filial  to  the  last ; 
Or,  if  he  prove  unkind,  (as  who  can  say  .  896 

But,  being  man,  and  therefore  frail,  he  may  ?) 
One  comfort  yet  shall  cheer  thine  aged  heart, 
Howe'er  he  slight  thee,  thou  hast  done  thy  part. 

O  barb'rous !  wouldst  thou  with  a  Gothick  hand 
Pull  down  the  schools— what  1 — ^all  th'  schools  i'  th' 
land ;  900 

Or  throw  them  up  to  liv'ry  nags  and  grooms, 
Or  turn  them  into  shops  and  auction  rooms  ? 
A  captious  question,  sir,  (and  yours  is  one,) 
Deserves  an  answer  similar  or  none. 
Wouldst  thou,  possessor  of  a  flock,  employ,  905 

(Apprised  that  he  is  such,)  a  careless  boy. 
And  feed  him  well,  and  give  him  handsome  pay,  ■ 
Merely  to  sleep,  and  let  them  run  astray  ? 
Survey  our  schools  and  colleges,  and  see 
A  sight  not  much  unlike  my  simile.  910 

From  education,  as  the  leading  cause, 
The  publick  character  its  colour  draws ; 
Thence  the  prevailing  manners  take  their  cast^ 
Extravagant  or  sober,  loose  or  chaste. 
And,  though  I  would  not  advertise  them  yet,  915 

Nor  write  on  each — This  building  to  be  let, 
Unless  the  world  w^ere  all  prepared  t'  embrace 
A  plan  well  worthy  to  supply  their  place  ; 
Yet,  backward  as  Ihey  are,  and  lorrg  have  been, 
To  cultivate  and  keep  the  morals  clean,  920 


(180) 
TO  THE  REV.  MR.  NEWTON. 

AN  INVITATION  INTO  THE  COUNTRY. 


THE  swallows  in  their  torpid  rtate 

Compose  their  useless  wing. 
And  bees  in  hives  as  idly  wait 

The  e«U  of  earl/  Spring. 
II. 
The  keenest  frost  that  binds  the  stream, 

The  wildest  wind  that  blows, 
Are  neither  fblt  nor  fear*d  by  them> 

Secnre  of  their  repose. 

in. 

But  man,  all  feeling  and  awake, 

The  gloomy  scene  surveys ! 
With  present  ills  his  heart  must  ache. 

And  pant  for  brigrhtcr  days. 
IV. 
Old  Winter,  halting  o'er  the  mead, 

Bids  me  and  Mary  mourn ; 
But  lovely  Spring  peeps  o'er  his  heod^ 

And  whispers  your  return. 
V. 
Then  April  with  her  sister  May, 

Shall  chase  him  from  the  bow'rs, 
And  weave  fresh  garlands  ev'ry  dQ,y 

To  crown  the  smiling  hours. 
VI. 
And  if  a  tear,  that  speaks  regret, 

Of  happier  times,  appear, 
A  glimpse  of  joy,  that  we  have  met. 

Shall  shine  and  dry  the  tear. 


(181) 


On  the  receipt  of  my  Mother's  Ptcture  omt  of  Mm^ 
foUCf  the  gift  qf  my  cousin  Ann  Bodhtmi, 


OTHAT  those  lips  h&d  langnagO!  Life  has  past'dl 
With  me  but  roughly  since  I  heard  thee  last. 
Those  lips  are  thine— -thj  own  sweet  smile  I  see*, 
The  same,  that  oil  in  childhood  solac'd  me ; 
Voice  only  fails,  else  how  distinct  they  say, 
"  Grieve  not,  my  child,  chase  all  thy  fears  away  l" 
The  meek  intelligence  of  those  dear  eyes, 
(Bless'd  be  the  art  that  can  immortalize, 
The  art  that  baffles  Time's  tyrannick  claim 
To  quench  it,)  here  shines  on  me  still  the  i 


^. 


Faithful  remembrancer  of  one  so  dear, 

0  welcomeguest,  though  unexpected  here ! 
Who  bidd'st  me  honour  with  an  artless  son^, 
Affectionate,  a  mother  lost  so  long. 

1  will  obey,  not  willingly  alone, 
But  gladly,  as  the  precept  were  her  own : 
And,  while  that  face  renews  ray  filial  grief, 
Fancy  shall  weave  a  charm  for  my  relief. 
Shall  steep  me  in  Elysian  reverie, 

A  momentary  dream,  that  thou  art  she. 

My  mother !  when  I  leam'd  that  thou  wast  dead, 
Say,  wast  thou  conscious  of  the  tears  I  shed  ? 
Horer'd  thy  spirit  o'er  thy  sorrowing  son. 
Wretch  even  then,  life's  journey  just  begun  ? 
Perhaps  thou  gav'st  me,  though  unfelt,  a  kiss, 
Perhaps  a  tear,  if  souls  can  weep  in  bliss — 
Ah,  that  maternal  smile  !  it  answers — ^Yes. 
I  heard  the  bell  tolVd  on  thy  burial  day. 

Vol.  II.  16 


I' 


^ 


1 


182  ON  THE  RECEIPT  OF 

I  saw  the  hearse  that  bore  thee  slow  away. 

And  turning  from  my  nors'ry  window,  drew 

A  long,  long  sigh,  and  wept  a  last  adieu! 

But  was  it  such  ? — It  was — ^whero  thou  ait  gofi« 

Adieus  and  farewells  are  a  sound  unknown. 

May  I  but  meet  thee  on  that  peaceful  shore, 

The  parting  word  shall  pass  my  lips  no  more ! 

Thy  maidens,  griev'd  themselves  at  my  concern, 

Oft  gave  me  promise  of  thy  quick  return. 

What  ardently  I  wish*4, 1  long  believ'd, 

And  disappointed  still,  was  still  dcceiv'd. 

By  expectation  ev'ry  day  beguil'd, 

Dupe  of  to-morroto  even  from  a  child. 

Thus  many  a  sad  to-morrow  came  and  went, 

Till  all  my  stock  of  infant  sorrows  spent, 

I  learned  at  last  submission  to  my  lot, 

But  though  I  less  deplor'd  thee,  ne'er  forgot. 

"Where  once  we  dwelt  our  name  is  heard  no  more, 
Children  not  thine  have  trod  mv  nurs'ry  floor ; 
And  where  the  gard'ner,  Robin,  day  by  day,    * 
Drew  me  to  school  along  the  publick  way, 
Delighted  with  my  bauble  coach,  and  wrapped 
In  scarlet  mantle  warm,  and  velvet  cap, 
Tis  now  become  a  hist*ry  little  known , 
•l^hat  once  we  call'd  the  past'ral  house  our  own. 
Short-liv'd  possession ! .  but  the  record  fair, 
That  mem'ry  keeps  of  all  the  kindness  there. 
Still  outlives  many  a  storm,  that  has  eflac*d 
A  thousand  other  themes  less  deeply  traced. 
Thy  nightly  visits  to  my  chamber  made. 
That  thou  mightst  know  me  safe  and  warmly  laid  \ 
*  Thy  morning  bounties  ere  I  lefCmy  home. 

The  biscuit,  or  confectionary  plum, 
.  The  fragrant  waters  on  my  cheeks  bestow*d 
By  thy  own  hand,  till  fresli  they  shone  and  glow*d  '* 
All  this,  and  more  endearing  still  than  all. 
Thy  constant  flow  of  lovo»  that  knew  no  fall, 


MY  MOTHERS  PICTURE  183 

Ne'er  roughen'd  by  those  cataracti  and  breacf 
That  hmnomr  interpos'd  too  often  makes ; 
All  this  still  legible  in  menf  ry's  page. 
And  stiH  to  be  so  to  mj  latest  age, 
Adds  joy  to  duty,  makes  me  glad  to  pay 
Such  honours  to  thee  as  my  nambers  may  : 
Perhaps  a  frail  memorial,  bnt  sincere, 
Mot  scom'd  in  Heav'n,  though  little  notie'd  here. 

Could  Time,  his  flight  reversed,  restore  the  hoars. 
When,  playing  ^ith  thy  vesture's  tissu'd  flow'xSy 
The  violet,  the  pink,  and  jessamine, 
I  prick'd  them  into  paper  with  a  pm, 
(And  thou  wast  happier  than  myself  the  while, 
Wouldst  softly  speak,  and  stroke  my  head  and  smile,) 
Could  those  few  pleasant  days  again  appear,    .   . 
Might  one  wish  bring  them,  would  I  wish  -them  her«  i 
I  would  not  trust  my  heart — the  dear  delight 
Seems  so  to  be  desir'd,  perhaps  I  might — 
But  no— what  here  we  call  our  life  is  such, 
So  little  to  be  lov'd,  and  thou  so  much, 

,  That  I  should  ill  requite  thee  to  constrain 

\^Thy  unbound  spirit  into  bonds  again. 

Thou,  as  a  gallant  bark  from  Albion's  coast, 
(The  storms  all  weather'd  and  the  ocean  cross'd,) 
Shoots  into  port  at  some  well-haven'd  isle. 
Where  spices  breathe,  and  brighter  seasons  smito^ 
There  sits  quiescent  on  the  floods  that  show 
Hei  beauteous  form  reflected  clear  below, 
While  airs  impregnated  with  incense  play 
Around  her  fanning  light  her  streamers  gay ; 
So  thou,  with  sails  how  swifl !  hast  reach'd  the  shore, 
**  Where  tempests  nef  er  beat  nor  billows  roar,"* 
And  thy  lov'd  consort  on  the  dang'rous  tide 
'  Of  life  long  since  has  anchor'd  by  thy  side. 
But  me,  scarce  hoping  to  attain  that  rest. 
Always  from  port  withheld,  always  distress'd— 
♦  Garth. 


184  OiN  THK  RECEIPT  OF,  Ac. 

Mo  liowllng  UasU  drive  deYious,  tempoii-toM*d, 
*  Sails  ripp'd,  scams  op'uing  wide,  and  e^myamB  hu^ 
And  day  by  day  sonie  current's  thwarting  lorce      * 
Sets  me  more  distant  from  a  prosp'rouff  course.' 
Tet  O  the  thought,  that  thou  art  safe,  wmI  he  S 
That  thought  is  joy,  arrive  wh^  may  to  mo. 
My  boast  is  not,  that  f,  doduce  my  bhrfh 
From  loins  enthron'd,  and  rulers  of  the  Earth; 
But  higher  far  my  proud  pretensions  rise—  * 

The  son  of  parents  pass'd  into  the  skies. 
And  now  farewell — Time  unrevok'd  has  nm 
Hb  wonted  course,  yet  what  I  wish'd  is  done, 
By  contemplation's  help,  not  sought  in  vain, 
I  seem  t'  have  liv'd  my  childhood  o'er  again ; 
To  have  renew'd  the  joys  that  once  were  mine, 
Without  the  sin  of  violating  thine  ; 
And  while  the  wingsjof  Fancy  still  are  fi«e, 
And  I  can  view  this  mimick  show  of  thee. 
Time  has  but  half  succeeded  in  his  theH — 
Thyself  reroov'd,  thy  pow'r  to  sooth  me  left. 


FRIENDSHIP. 


WHAT  virjuo,  or  what  mental  gnoe. 
But  men  unqualified  and  base 

Will  boast  it  their  possession  ? 
Profusion  apes  the  nebler  part 
Of  liberality  of  heart. 

And  dulness  of  discretion. 
If  ev'ry  polish'd  gem  we  find 
Illuminating  heart  or  mind, 

Provoke  to  Imitation ; 
No  wonder  friendship  does  the  same, 
That  jewel  of  the  purest  flame, 

Or  rather  constellation 

No  knave  but  boldly  will  pretend 
The  requintes  that  form  a  friend,  ■ 

A  real  and  a  sound  one ; 
Nor  any  fool,  he  would  deceive. 
But  proves  as  ready  to  believe, 

And  dream  that  he  had  found  one. 
Candid,  and  generons,  ancTjust, 
Boys  care  but  little  whom  they  trust. 

An  erronr  soon  corrected — 
For  who  but  learns  in  riper  years. 
That  man,  when  smoothest  he  appem 

Is  most  to  J^  suspected  ? 

But  here  again  a  danger  lies. 
Lest,  having  misapplied  our  eyes, 

And  taken  trash  for  treasure. 
We  diould  unwarily  conclude 
FriendslUp  a  false  ideal  good, 

A  mere  Utopian  pleasure. 
16* 


186  FRiENDSfflP. 

An  acqmsition  rather  rare 
'    Is  yet  no  subject  of  despair ; 

Nor  is  it  wise  complaining, 
If  either  on  forbidddeB  giouady 
Or  where  it  was  not  to  be  found, 

We  sought  without  attaining. 

No  friendship  will  abide  the  test, 
That  stands  on  sordid  interest, 

Or  mean  selfloyo  erected : 
Nor  such  as  may  awhile  subsist, 
Between  the  sot  and  sensualist, 

For  vicious  ends  connected. 

Who  seeks  a  friend  should  come  disposed 
T'  exhibit  m  full  bloom  disclos'd 

The  graces  and  the  beauties, 
Tfabt  form  the  character  he  seeks 
For  *tis  a  union  that  bespeaks 

Reciprocated  duties. 

Mutual  attention  is  implied. 
And  equal  truth  on  either  side, 

And  constantly  supported ; 
*Tis  senseless  arrogance  t*  accuse 
Another  of  sinister  views, 

Our  own  as  much  distorted. 

.    But  will  sincerity  suffioi^? 
It  is  indeed  above  all  price, 

And  must  be  made  the  basis  j 
But  ov*ry  virtue  of  the  soul 
Must  constitute  the  charming  wholdj^ 

All  shining  in  their  places. 

A  fretful  temper  will  divide 

The  closest  knot  that  may  be  tied. 

By  ceaseless  sharp  corrosion ; 
A  temper  passionate  and  fierce 
May  suddenly  your  joys  diapcrae 

At  one  immense  explosion. 


FRIENDSHiP.  187 

In  yain  the  talkative  unite 

In  hopes  of  permanent  delight —  * 

*  The  Bocrot  just  committed, 
Forgetting  its  impoftant  weight, 
They  drop  through  mere  desire  to  ptatey 

And  by  themselves  outwitted. 
How  bright  soe'etf  tiie  psospeot  i 
All  thoughts  of  friendship  are  but  < 

If  envy  chance  to  cie^  in  -5 
An  envious  man,  if  yoa  succeed, 
May  prove  a  dang'rous  foe  indeed^ 

But  not  a  friend  worth  keeping. 

As  envy  pines  at  good  poBnsB*d, 
So  jealousy  looks  forth  distxess'd 

On  good,  that  seems  approaching  ^ 
And  if  success  his  steps  attend, 
Discerns  a  rival  in  a  friend, 

And  hates  him  for  encroadiing* 
Hence  authors  of  illustrious  name 
Unless  belied  by  common  fame, 

Are  sadly  prone  to  quarrel. 
To  deem  the  Vit  a  firiend  dii^Iays 
A  tax  upon  their  own  just  praise, 

And  pluck  eadi  other'aiaareL 
A  man  renown'd  for  repartee, 
Will  seldom  scruple  to  make  fre* 

With  friendship's  finest  feeliiig  'r 
Will  thrust  a  dagger  at  your  bzeas^ 
And  say  he  wounded  you  in  jest. 

By  way  of  balm  for  healing. 
Whoever  keeps  an  open  ear 
For  tattlers,  will  be  sure  to  hear 

The  trumpet  of  pontontioa ', 
Aspersion  is  the  babbler's  teads^ 
To  listen  is  to  lend  lum  aid, 

And  rush  in^  dissension. 


188  Fmjsm^arHiF. 

A  friendship,  that  in  frequent  fits 
Of  controversial  rage  omits   . 

The  sparks  of  disputation, 
Like  hand  in  hand  inwranca  plates^ 
Most  unavoidably  creates 

The  thought  of  conflagfatioo* 

Some  fickle  creatores  boast  a  Mai 
True  as  a  jMedle  to  the  paLo* 

Their  humour  yet  so  various, 
They  manifest  tlveir  whole  Hfe  througk 
The  needle's  deviations  too, 

Their  love  is  so  precarious. 

The  great  and  small  but  rarely  meet 
On  temiB  of  amity  complete, 

Plebeians  must  surrender 
And  yield  so  much  to  noble  folk. 
It  is  combining  fire  with  smoke, 

Obscurity  with  splendour. 

Some  are  so  placid  and  serene 
(As  Irish  bogs  are  always  green,) 

They  sleep  secure  from  waking : 
And  are  indeed  a  bog  that  boars 
Tour  unparticipatod  cares 

Unmov'd  and  without  quaking. 

Courtier  and  patriot  cannot  mix 
Their  het'rogeneous  politicks, 

Without  an  efiervescence, 
Like  that  of  salts  with  lemon  juioe, 
Which  does  not,  yet  like  that  produce 

A  friendly  coalesceiica. 

Religion  should  extinguish  strifis, 
And  make  a  calm  of  human  life ; 

Bm  firiends  that  chance  to  di^r 
*     On  points  which  Gtod  has  left  at  large^ 
How  freely  will  they  meet  and  charge 

No  combatants  aro  stiffer. 


FlUEIfDSHIP;  18> 

To  prove  at  lost  my  main  intoni 
Needs  no  expense  of  argumenti 

No  catting  and  contrivinf— 
Seeking  a  real  friend  wo  aeem 
T'  adopt  the  chemist's  golden  ^reMi» 

With  still  less  hope  of  thriving. 
Sometimes  the  fault  is  all  our  owo. 
Some  blemish  in  due  time  made  i^Mini 

By  trespass  or.  omission ; 
Sometimes  occaaion  brings  to  light 
*  Our  friend's  defect  long  hid  iJrom  figlU, 

And  even  from  suspicuML 
Then  judge  yourself,  and  prove  your  imh 
As  circumspectly  as  you  con, 

And,  having  made  election,  « 

BoWare  no  negligence  of  yours. 
Such  as  a  friend  bu(  ill  endureS) 

Enfeeble  his  afibction* 
That  secrets  are  a  sacred  trust. 
That  friends  should  be  sincere  and  joot,. 

That  constancy  befits  them, 
Are  observations  on  the  case, 
That  savour  much  of  commoB«p]«M» 

And  all  the  world  admits  them. 

But  'tis  not  timber,  lead,  and  stont^ 
An  architect  requires  alone. 

To  finish  a  fine  building**** 
The  palace  were  but  half  complete^ 
If  he  could  possibly  forget 

The  carving  and  the  gilding. 
The  man  that  hails  you  Tom  or  Ja«k 
And  proves  by  thumps  upon  youf  1 

How  ho  esteems  your  merit. 
Is  such  a  friend,  that  one  had  aeod 
Be  very  much  his  friend  indoada 

To  pardon  or  to  bear  it. 


80  rRTENDSHt? 

As  similarity  of  mind, 

Or  something  not  to  be  defin'd* 

Firjit  fixes  our  attention : 
So  manners  decent  and  polite, 
The  same  wo  practis'd  at  first  sigli 

Must  save  it  from  declenmon. 
Some  act  upon  this  prudent  plan, 
^*  Say  little,  and  hear  all  you  can." 

Safe  policy,  but  hatefal — 
So  barren  sands  imbibe  the  showV, 
But  render  neither  fruit  nor  flow'r 

Unpleasant  and  ungrateful. 

The  man  I  trust,  if  shy  to  me, 
•  Shall  find  me  as  reserved  as  he, 

N%  subterfuge  or  pleading 
Shall  win  my  confidence  again — 
I  will  by  no  means  entertain 

A  spy  on  my  proceeding. 

These  samples — ^for  alas !  at  last 
These  are  but  samples,  and  a  taste 

Of  evils  yet  unmentionM — 
May  prove  the  task  a  task  indeed, 
In  which  'tis  much4f  we  succeed, 

However  well  intention*d. 

Pursue  the  seareh,  and  you  will  find 
Good  sense  and  knowledge  of  mankind 

To  be  at  least  expedient,. 
And,  after  summing  all  the  rest. 
Religion  ruling  in  the  breast 

A  principal  ingrecfient. 
The  noblest  Friendship  ever  shown 
The  Saviour's  history  makes  known, 

Though  some  have  turnU  and  tum'd  h; 
And  whether  being  craz'd  or  blind. 
Or  seeing  with  a  biass'd  mind, 

Have  not,  it  seems,  discem'd  it 


r^:s:^ 


THE  MORAUZER  CQHRECTIiO. 

O  Friendship !  if  my  soul  &>t^o 
Thj  dear  delights  while  here  below 

To  mortify  and  grieve  me» 
May  I  myself  at  last  appear 
Unworthy,  baso,  and  insincaie, 

Or  may  my  friend  deceive  ma ! 


THE  MORALIZER  CORRECTER 


A  HERMIT,  (or  if 'chance  you  hold 
That  title  now  too  trite  and  old,). 
A  man,  once  young,  who  liv'd  retir'd 
As  hermit  could  have  well  desir'd, 
His  hours  of  study  closM  at  last. 
And  finsh'd  his  concise  repast, 
Stoppled  his  cruise,  replaced  his  book 
Within  his  customary  nook,    • 
And,  staff  in  hand,  set  forth  to  share 
The  sober  cordial  of  sweet  air. 
Like  Isaac,  with  a  mmd  applied  ' 

To  serious  thought  at  evening  tide. 
Autumnal  rains  had  made  it  chill. 
And  from  the  trees  that  friag'd  his  hill. 
Shades  slanting  at  the  close  of  day 
Chilled  more  his  else  delightful  way , 
Distant  a  little  mile  he  %picd 
A  western  bank's  still  sunny  side. 
And  right  toward  the  favoured  place 
Proceeding  witl\  his  nimblest  pace. 
In  hope  to  bask  a  little  yet. 
Just  reached  it  when  the  sun  was  set 


m       THE  MOHALIZER  CORRECTED. 
Your  hermit,  joang  and  jorial  sin ! 
Learns  sometluBf  from  whate'er  eeear»A» 
And  hence,  be  said,  my  mind  compote* 
The  real  worth  of  man's  pursuits 
His  object  chosen,  wealth,  or  fidut^ 
Or  other  soblonary  gamoi 
Tmaginatinn  to  his  view 
Presents  it  deck'd^with  er'ry  hoe 
That  can  seduce  him  not  to  spare  . 
His  pow*rs  of  best  exertion  there. 
But  joath,  health,  vigour,  to  expend 
On  ao  desirable  an  end. 
Ere  long  approach  life's  eVning  Bhadsej    * 
The  glow  that  ftncy  gave  it  fades ; 
And,  eam*d  too  late,  it  wants  the  grace 
That  first  engag'd  him  in  the  chase. 

True,  answer'd  an  angelick  guide, 
Attendant  at  the  senior's  side — 
But  whether  all  the  time  it  cost, 
To  urge  the  fruitless  chase  be  lost, 
Must  be  decided  by  the  worth 
Of  that  which  call'd  his  ardour  fortji. 
Trifles  pursu'd,  whate'er  th'  event. 
Must  cause  him  shame  or  discontent : 
A  vicious  object  still  is  worse, 
Successful  there  he  wins  a  curse. 
But  he,  whom  e'en  in  life's  last  stage 
Endeavours  laudable  engage. 
Is  paid,  at  least  in  peace  of  mind. 
And  sense  of  having  well  design'd  i 
And  if,  ere  he  attain  his  end, 
His  sun  precipitate  descend, 
A  brighter  prize  than  that  he  meant 
Shall  recompense  his  mere  intent 
No  virtuous  wish  can  bear  a  date 
Either  too  early  or  too  late 


J 


CATHARINA. 

▲DDBSStXD  TO  Nlft*.  flT^fSURkH^ 
(now  MRS.  COVRTNXr.) 


8HE  came— she  is  gone — we  have  met — 

And  meet  perhaps  never  again ; 
The  son  of  that  moment  is  set, 

And  seems  to  have  risen  in  vain 
Cathanna  has  fled  like  a  dream — 
•    (So  vanishes  pleasure,  alas !) 
But  has  left  a  regret  and  esteem, 
'    That  will  not  sp  suddenly  pass. 

The  last  evening  ramble  we  made, 

Caiharina,  Maria,  and  I, 
Our  progress  was  often  delayed 

By  the  nightingale  warbling  nigh. 
We  paused  under  many  a  tree. 

And  much  she  was  charmed  with  a  tont 
Less  sweet  to  Maria  and  me, 

Who  so  lately  had  wltne^*d  her  own. 

My  numbers  that  day  she  had  simg. 

And  gave  them  a  grace  so  divine, 
As  only  her  musical  tongue 

Could  infuse  into  numbers  of  mine. 
The  bmger  I  heard,  I  esteemed 

The  work  of  my  fancy  the  more, 
And  e'ec  to  myself  never  seem'd 

80  tnneftd  a  poet  before. 
Vol.  II.  17 


194  CATIIARINA 

Though  the  pleasures  of  London  exceed 

In  number  the  days  of  the  year, 
Catharina,  did  notliing  impede, 

Would  feel  herself  happier  here ; 
For  the  doae-woTen  arches  of  limes 

On  the  banks  of  our  river,  I  know. 
Are  sweeter  to  her  many  times 

Than  waghX  tbat-the  city  can  show. 

So  it  is,  when  the  mind  is  endu'd 

With  a  well-judging  taste  from  aboT«, 
Then  whether  embellished  or  rude 

*Ti8  nature  alone  that  we  love ; 
The  achievements  of  art  may  amuse, 

May  even  our  wonder  excite. 
But  groves,  hills,  and  vallies,  diffuse 

A  lasting,  a  sacred  delight. 

Since,  then,  in  the  rural  recess 

Catharina  alone  can  rejoice, 
May  it  still  be  her  lot  to  possess 

The  scene  of  her  sensible  choice ! 
To  inhabit  a  mansion  remote 

From  the  clatter  of  street-pacing  steods. 
And  by  Philomers  annual  note 

To  measure  the  life  that  she  leads. 

With  her  book,  and  her  voice,  and  her  lyr* 

To  wing  all  her  moments  at  home ; 
And  with  scenes  that  new  rapture  inspire. 

As  oil  as  it  suits  her  to  roam ; 
She  will  have  just  the  life  she  prefers, 

With  little  to  hope  or  to  fear. 
And  ours  would  be  pleasant  as  hers. 

Might  we  view  her  enjoying  it  here. 


THE  FAITHFUL  BIRD. 


THE  green  house  it  my.  suimner  seat ; 
My  shrubs  diaplac'd  from  that  retrest 

Enjoy'd  the  open  air ; 
Two  Goldfinches,  whose  sprightly  song. 
Had  been  their  mutual  solace  long, 

Liv'd  happy  pris'ners  there. 

They  sang  as  blithe  as  finches  sing, 
That  flutter  loose  on  golden  wing, 

And  frolick  where  they  list ; 
Strangers  to  liberty,  His  true, 
But  that  delight  they  never  knew 

And  therefore  sever  miss*d. 

But  nature  works  ia  evQiy  breaM, 
With  force  not  easily  suppress'd^ 

And  Dick  foU  some  desires. 
That  after  njany  an. effort  vain, 
Instructed  him  at  length  to  gain 

A  pass  bet  ween,  his  wires.    ' 

The  open  windows  seem'd  t'  invito 
The  freeman  to  a  farewell  flight : 

But  Tom  was  still  confin'd : 
And  Dick,  alti&ongh  his  way  vras  clear 
Was  much  too  gen'rous  and  sincere, 

To  leave  his  friend  behind. 

80  settling  on  his  cage,  by  play. 
And  chirp,  and  kiss-he  seem'd  to  say, 

Tou  must  not  live  alone — 
Nor  would  he  quit  that  chosen  standi 
Till  I,  with  slow  and  cautious  hand, 

Returned  him  to  his  own 


=pc3l:«= 


196  THE  NEEDLESS  AliARM. 

O  je^ho  never  taste  the  joya 
Of  Friendriifp,  Batiafied  with  iK>kM, 

Fandangp,  hall,  and  rout ! 
Blush,  when  I  tell  you  how  a  bijd, 
A  prison  with  a  friend  preferred 

To  liberty  without 


THE  NEEDLESS  ALARM. 

A  talIg. 

THERE  is  a  field,  through  which  I  often  pass 
Thick  overspread  with  moss  and  silky  grassy 
Adjoinmg  close  to  Kilwick*s  echoing  wood, 
Where  oft  the  bitch  fo;c  hides  her  hapless  brood, 
Reserved  to  solace  many  a  neighb'ring  «qirif»*> 
That  he  may  follow  them  through  braka^ftd  bntfv 
Contusion,  hazarding  of  neck,  or.  spine, 
Which  rural  gentlemen  €all  sport  di^^ns* 
A  narrow  brook,  by  rudiy  banksconeeal^ 
Runs  in  a  bottom,  and  divides  the  fidd ; 
Oaks  intersperse  it,  that  had  once  a  head> 
But  now  wear  crests  of  oven-wood  instead! 
And  where  the  land  slopes  ^  its  w%Vi^  boiifV^ 
Wide  yawns  a  gulf  beside  a  ragged  thorn; 
Bricks  line  the  sides,  but  shiver 'd  long  ago^ 
And  horrid  brambles  intertwine  below ; 
A  hollow  scooped,  I  judge,  in  ancient  time, 
For  baking  .earth,  or  burning  rock  to  lime. 

Not  yet  the  hawthorn  bore  her  berries  red, 
With  which  the  fieldfare,  wintry  guest,  is  fed ; 
Nor  autumn  yet  had  brush'd  from  ov'ry  spray, 
With  her  chill  hand  the  mellow  leaves  away ; 


THIS  NEEDLESS  ALARM.  IST 

But  eorn  was  houa'd,  and  htaiB  were  ia  the  etaek ; 
Now  therefore  isaa'd  forth  the  spotted  peek^ 
With  tails  high  nonnted,  ears  hong  low,  and  threate. 
With  a  whcde  gamut  fill'd  of  heay'nly  notes^ 
For  which,  alas !  my  destiny  severe, 
Though  ears  she  gave-me  two,  gmve  me  no  ear. 

'  The  sun,  accomplishing  his  early  march, 
His  lamp  now  planted  on  Heay*n*8  topmost  arch| 
When,  exercise  and  air  my  only  aim. 
And  heedless  whither,  to  that  field  I  came, 
Ere  yet  with  ruthless  joy  the  happy  hoond 
7old  hill  and  dale  that  Reynard's  track  was  founds 
Or  with  the  high-rais*d  horn's  melodious  dang 
All  ^wick*  and  all  Dinglederry*  rang. 

Sheep  graz'd  the  field ;  some  with  soft  bosom  press'd 
The  herb  as  soft,  while  nibbling  stray'd  the  rest ; 
Nor  noise  was  heard  but  of  the  hasty  brook. 
Struggling,  detained  in  many  a  pet^  nook. 
AH  seem'd  so  peaceful,  that,  from  them  conyey*d, 
To  me  their  peace  by  kind  contagion  spread. 

But  when  the  huntsman  with  distended  cheeky 
'Gan  make  his  instrument  of  musick  speak^ 
And  firom  within  the  wood  that  crash  was  heard, 
Though  not  a  hound  firom  whom  it  burst  appeared) 
The  sheep  reeorabent,  and  the  sheep  that  graz'dy 
All  huddling  into  phalanx,  stood  and  gaa'd, 
Admiring,  terrified,  the  novel  stnun. 
Then  cours'd  the  field  around,  and  cours'd  it  round 

•jgain; 
But,  recollecting  with  a  sudden  thought. 
That  flight  in  otrcles  urgM  advanced  them  nought, 
They  gathered  close  around  the  old  pit's  brink. 
And  thought  again— but  knew  not  what  to  think. 

*  Two  woods  bdongicg  to  John  Tfarockinorton,  Eiq. 
17* 


igS  THfi  KBEIHASS  ALARM, 

Percehres  iiv««««y  lAlft^tlMt  ii^«9i  a  < 

Wot  ■■JMili  aJDiW,  ^»t  thtdb^  and  tnm, 

HaTo  q>eee|i  fi»r  hini)  and  owiMitoadnfilfa  «M»; 

After  longr  droof ht  ^rfaoii  Ytima  idnrndant  fiM, 

He  hean  ti»  Iwite  iBd  flovr^  n^Mra/ip  all ; 

Knows  what  the  freahneaa  of  their  hue  implies, 

How  i^lad  thej  cttdi  the  largess  of  ^e  dde»; 

Bnty  wiw  preciBton  nice^  Mill|  the  mind 

He  scans  of  ev'rj  foeomotire  kind  ; 

Birds  of  all  feather,  beasts  of  er'rj  name, 

That  senre  maiAind,  or  shun  them,  wBd  ertame; 

The  looks  and  gestures  of  theb  griefs  «nd  fears 

HaTO  all  artienlation  in  his  ears ; 

He  spells  them  tme  by  intoition's  light, 

And  needs  no  glossary  to  set  him  right. 

This  tnrth  premisM  was  needfbl-as  a  text. 
To  win  due -credence  to  what  follows  next. 

AwhSe  they  noa'd ;  surveymg  eT*ry  &oe. 
Thou  hadst  snpposVl  them  of  soperiour  race ; 
Their  periwigs  of  wool,  and  fears  combinM 
StampVl  on  eaeh  countenance  sucli  marks  t)f^iii^, 
That  sage  they  seem'd  a»  law^^erso^er  a  deub^ 
Which,  puzzling  long,  Ht  last  they  ^^e  eut ; 
Or  aeadem!«k  t^ers^  teachhig  youflls. 
Sure  ne'er  to  want  them,  mathemfttii^k'  trtttkif ; 
When  thus  a  mattcm,  sti^dier  fhanfthe  r^ 
A  ram,  the  ewes  and  wethers  sad,  address^L 

Friends  I  we  have  liv'd  too  long.    I  neTonhaaid 
Sounds  such  as  these,  so  worthy  tot  be  lintf  *d. 
Could  1  b^ie^,  that  winds  i^  i^^'pent 
In  Earth's  ^baric  womb  have  found  at  last  a  vwt, 
And  &6m  their  prison-house  bel<yw  arise. 
With  all  these  hideous  bowlings  to  the  skies, 
I  could  be  much  composed,  nor  cftould  appear, 
For  such  a  cause,  to  feel  the  slightest  fear 


TH£  flEWlimm  ALARM.  1»^ 

FiMinelTes  hme  smq,  wiiAt  Itee  tba  llmaiif  ■  wiM 

All  night,  me  timing  ^mt  uuiko  iMf 
Or  heard  we  that  luremendaiiifl  hmy  etee, 
I  could  expeai)d  the jBtlmiobQly  tone; 
Should  deem.'  U  by  our  .old  cenfentea  mmkif 
The  ass ;  for  he,  we  know,  has  lately  stray'd, 
And  being  lost,  perhaps,,  and.  wand'ring  wide. 
Might  be  auj^pos'd  to  olamour.for  a  goad^. 
But  ah !  those  dreadful  yrils  what  aooi  tmm  hmr 
That  owns  a  carcass  and  not  quake  for  fear  ? 
Uemons.  produce  them  doubtless,  blQen-claw*d, 
And  fang'd  with  brass,  the  da/mons  are  abroad , 
i  hold.it  there^Mre  wisest  and  most  fit. 
That,  life  to  save,  we  leap  into  the  pit. 

Him  answor'd  then  his  loving  mate  and  true, 
But  more  discreet  than  he,  a  Cambrian  ewe. 

How  !  leap  into  the  pit  our  life  to  save  ? 
To  save  our  life  leap  all  into  the  grave  ? 
For  can  we  find  it  less  ?  Contemplate  first 
The  depth  how  awful  I  falling  there  we  burst ;. 
Or  should  the  bnftibles,  interposed,  our  fall 
In  part  abate,  that  h^piness  were  sma,ll : 
For  with  a  race  like  theirs  no  chance  I  see 
Of  peace  or  ease  to  creatures  clad  as  we. , 
Meantime,  noise  kills  not.    Be  it  Dappldts  bray, 
Or  be  it  not,  or  be  it  whoso  i(  may. 
And  rush  those  other  sounds,  that  seem  by  to^igues 
Of  demons  utter 'd  from  whatever  lungs, 
.Sounds  are  but  sounds,  and  till  the  cause  appear, 
We  have  at  least  commodious  standing  here. 
Ck>me  fiend,  come  fury,  giant,  monster^  blast 
From  Earth  or  Helf,  we  can  but  plunge  at  last. 

While  thus  she  spake,  I  fainter  heard  the  peals, 
For  Reynard,  dose  attended  atiiis  heek 
By  panting  dog,  tir'd  man,. and spatter'd horse, 
Through  mere  good  fortune,  took  a  different  ooursa 


=^ 


let  BOADICEA. 

The  6odc  grew  ealm  egein,  end  I  tiie  roed 
FoU*wing,  that  led  me  to  my  own  abode. 
Much  wondered  that  the  silly  eheep  had  found 
Such  cause  of  terrour  m  an  empty  sound, 
80  sweet  to  huntsman,  gentleman,  and  hound. 

MORAL. 
Beware  of  dei^*rate  steps.    The  darkest  dajy 
Lire  till  to-morrow,  will  have  pas8*d  away. 


BOADICEA 


.WHEN  the  British  warnour  queen. 
Bleeding  from  the  Roman  rodS| 

Sought  with  an  indignant  mien. 
Counsel  of  her  country's  gods. 

11. 
Sage  beneath  the  spreading  oak* 

Sat  the  Druid,  hoary  chief; 
Ev'ry  burning  word  he  spoko 

Full  of  rage,  and  full  of  grief 

m. 

Princess !  if  our  aged  eyes 

Weep  upon  thy  matchless'wrongs 
rris  because  resentment  ties 

All  the  terrours  of  our  tongues. 


J 


BOADICJEA.  20J 

Rome  a&Ui  perish— write  that  word  % 

Id  the  blood  that  she  ha^t  «pUl'd ; 
Perish,  hopdeas  «ad  abhorr'd. 

Deep  in  ruin  113  in  guilt 

•    ■    '  T.  .         " 

Rome,  for  empire  far  renown'd, 
Tramples  on  a  thousand  states ; 

Soon  her  pride  shall  kiss  flie  ground- 
Hark  !  the  Gaul  is  at  her  gates ! 

VI. 
Other  Romans  shall  arise, 

Heedless  of  a  soldier's  name  > 
Sounds,  not  arras,  sliall  win  the  pri^e 

Harmony  the  path  to  fame. 

VU. 
Then  the  progeny  that  springe 

From  the  forests  of  o\ir  land, 
Arm'd  with  thonder,  elad  with  wing* 

Shall  a  wider  world  oommand. 

VIIL 

Regions  Ceesar  never  knew 

Thy  posterity  almJI  sway ; 
Where  his  eagles  never  flew,. 

None  invincible  as  they. 

IX. 

Such  the  baFd*s  prophetick  words, 

Pregnant  with  celestial  fire, 
Bending  as  he  swept  the  chords 

Of  his  sweet  but  awftil  lyro 

X. 

She,  with  all  a  flumarch's  pride. 

Felt  them  in  her  bosom  glow ; 
Rush'd  to  battle,.fought,  and  died  j  ^ 

Dying  hurl'd  them  at  the  foe. 


202  HEROISM 

$  ^- 

Ruffians,  pitUeM  as  proud, 

HeaT*n  awards  the  Teng^asce  t 

Empire  is  on  us  bestowed, 

Shame  and  ruin  wait  for  you. 


HEROISM. 

THERE  was  a  time  when  JEtna's  siloAt  fire 
Slept  unpercoiv*d,  the  mountain  yet  entire  ; 
WheUf  conscious  of  no  danger  from  below, 
She  tower'd  a  cloudcapt  pyramid  of  snow. 
No  thunders  shook  with  deep  intestine  sound 
The  blooming  groyes  that  girdled  her  around. 
Her  unctuous  olives,  and  her  purple  Tine% 
(Unfblt  the  fury  of  those  bursting  mined,) 
The  peasant's  hopes,  and  not  in  vain,  assured,       ^ 
In  peace  upon  her  sloping  sides  matured. 
When  on  a  day,  like  that  of  the  last  doom, 
A  conflagration  lab'ring  in  her  womb. 
She  teem'd  and  heav'd  with  an  infernal  bifth, 
That  shook  the  circling  seas  and  solid  earth. 
Dark  and  voluminous  the  vapours  rise. 
And  hang  their  horrours  in  the  neighboring  skies, 
While  tiirough  the  stygian  veil  that  blots  the  dtijj 
In  dazzling  streaks  the  vivid  lightnings  play. 
But  O  !  what  muse,  and  in  what  pow'rs  of  song, 
Can  trace  the  torrent  as  it  burns  along  ? 
Havock  and  devastatioit  1:^  the  van, 
•It  marches  o'er  the  prostrate  works  of  man, 
Vi|jes,  olives,  herbage,  forests,  (disappear. 
And  all  the*  charms  of  a  Siciliaa  r^ar 


ff*= 


HSBOl^M.  203 

Reyolviiig  seaions  firuiUoM  as  tliey  pMSy 
Bee  it  an  uninlbnii'd  and  idle  maae ', 
Without  a  foU  t'  inrke  the  tiller'a  cace. 
Or  blade  that  might  redeem  it  from  deepalr* 
fet  time,  at  length,  (what  will  not  time  adiieTe/) 
Clothes  it  with  earth,  and  bids  the  produce  live* 
Once  more  the  0piry  myrtle  crowns  the  glade» 
And  ruminating  flocks  enjoy  the  shade. 
O  bliss  precarious  and  unsafe  retreats, 
O  charming  Paradise  of  short-liv'd  sweets ! 
The  self-same  gale  that  wafls  the  fragrance  roondy 
Brings  to  the  distant  ear  a  sullen  sound : 
Again  the  mountain  feels  tH^  imprisoned  foe, 
Again  pours  ruin  on  tho  vale  below. 
Ten  thousand  swains  the  wasted  scene  deplore, 
That  only  future  ages  can  restore. 

Ye  mpnarchs,  whom  the  lure  of  .honour  drawf| 
Who  write  in  blood  the  merits  of  your  cause, 
Who  strike  the  blow,  then  plead  your  own  deftnce^ 
Glory  your  aim,  but  justice  your  pretence ; 
Behold  in  i&tna*s  emblomatick  fires 
The  mischiefs  your  ambitious  pride  inifpires. 

Fast  by  the  stream  that  bounds  your  just  domamf 
And  tells  you  where  yb  have  a  right  to  reign^ 
A  nation  dwells,  not  envious  of  your  throne, 
Studious  of  peace,  their  neighbours*  and  their  owii» 
Bl-iated  race !  how. deeply  roust  they  me 
Their  only  crime,  vicinity  to  you  !  * 

The  trumpet  sounds,  your  legions  swarm  abroad* 
Through  the  ripe  harvest  lies  their  destined  road . 
At  ey'ry  ftep  beni^th  their  feet  they  tread 
The  life  of  multitudes,  a  nation's  bread ! 
Earth  seems  a  garden  in  its  lovoliost  dress 
Before  them,  and  behind  a  wilderness.  ^ 

Famine,  and  Pestilence,  her  first-bom  son^ 
Attend  to  finish  what  the  sword  begun  * 


204  HEROISM. 

And  echoinf  pnxtot^  such  as  fieadi  miglU  tmokf 
And  Follj  pays,  tMonaiA  aft  yonr  tetany 
A  calm  succeedS'*-b«t  Plsntyi  wkh  kdr  traui 
Of  heart-ftlt  Joyt,  toetdeds  ii6t  soon  tcgtimf 
And  yeaf»«r  pfeifaigt  MigeiiMt  aftuit  sfanr 
What  tfeocirges  acM  th«  gods  that  rale  below. 
Yet  man,  kborions  mm/  by  slow  degrees^ 
(Sacb  is  his  thiMt  of  apnlonco  and  easoi) 
Plies  an  the  sinews  of  ihdostrious  toll, 
Gleans  up  the  refuse  of  the  gen'ral  spoil. 
Rebuilds  the  towers,  tltat  smok*d  opon  the  piaillr 
And  the  smi  gBA  the  shining  spires  ftgaio* 

Increasing  commerce  and  reviving  art 
Renew  tho  quarrel  on  the  conqu'ror's  pert } 
And  the  sad  lesson  must  be  1eam*d  once  mert^ 
That  wealth  within  is  ruin  at  the  door. 
What  are  ye,  monarehs,  laurell'd  heroes,  si^, 
But  JEtnas  of  the  suff'ring  world  ye  sway  ?  - 
SweSt  Nature,  stripped  of  her  embroidered  rob% 
Deplores  the  wasted  regions  of  her  globe^; 
And  stands  a  witness  at  Truth's  awful  bar, 
To  prove  yott  there  destroyers  as  ye  are. 

O  place  me  in  some  Heav*n-protoeted  isle,^ 
Where  Peace,  and  Equity,  and  Freedom  sm)Je* 
Where  no  Volcano  pours  his  fiery  flood, 
No  crested  warriour  dips  his  plume  in  blood  | 
Whe^  Pow*r  secures  what  Indtutiy  has  ww  | 
Where  to  succeed  iti  not  to  be  tuidene; 
A  land,  that  distattt  iymm  httte  in  vaift, 
In  Britain's  isle,  beneath  a  iGreorge's  v«iga  * 


905) 


Oh  a  i|iiMtUKTpi7|  BvUo  WUSCH  TH|(  o\fvit^  or  : 

•OLD  AT  THS  AVTHOK*8  INSTANCE. 


jGrO— thou  art  all  unfit  to  share 

The  pleasures  of  this  place 
'^th  such  as  its  old  tenants  are, 

Creatures  of  gentler  race. 

The  squirrel  here  his  hoard  provides 

Aware  of  wintry  storms, 
And  wood-peckers  explore  the  i^dos 

Of  rugged  oaks  for  worms. 

The  sheep  here  smooths  the  knotted  thorn 

With  frictions  of  her  fieece ; 
And  here  I  wander  eve  and  mom. 

Like  her,  a  friend  to  peace. 

Ah ! — ^I  could  pity  .thee  exil'd 

.   From  this  secuue  retreat — 

I  would  not  lose  it  to  be  styl'd 

The  happiest  of  the  great. 

But  thou  canst  taste  no  ci^m  delight ;         < 

Thy  pleasure  is  to  show 
Thy  magnanimity  in  fight. 

Thy  prowess— therefore  go- 

* 

I  care  not  whether  east  or  norths 

So  I  no  more  may  find  thee ; 
The  angry  muse  thus  sings  thoe  fortli. 

And  claps  the  gate  behind  Ihce. 
Vot.  II.  18 


(206) 


ANNUS  MEMORABILIS,  1789- 
Warmv  ni  coimxiioRATioir  of  his  MAJXfTi *f 

HAFPV  RXCOTERT. 


I  RANSACK'D  for  a  theme  of  son^, 
Moch  ancient  chronicle,  and  long  ; 
I  read  of  bright  embattled  fields, 
Of  trophied  helmets,  spears,  and  shields. 
Of  chiefs,  whose  single  arm  coold  boast 
Prowess  to  disupate  a  host ; 
Through  tomes  of  fable  and  of  dream 
I  sought  an  eligible  theme. 
Bat  none  I  found,  or  found  them  shar'd 
Already  by  some  happier  bard. 

To  modem  times,  with  Truth  to  guide 
My  busy  search,  I  next  applied ; 
Here  cities  won,  and  fleets  dispersed, 
Urg*d  loud  a  claim  to  be  rehearsed, 
Deeds  of  unperishing  renown, 
Our  fathers*  triumphs  and  our  own. 

Thiy,  as  the  bee,  from  bank  to  bow'r, 
Assiduous  dps  at  ev'ry  flow*r. 
But  rests  on  none,  till  that  be  found, 
Where  most  nectareous  sweets  abound--" 
So  I,  from  ^eme  to  theme  displayed 
In  many  a  page  historick  stray 'd. 
Siege  afler  siege,  fight  after  fight 
Contemplating  with  small  delight, 
(For  feats  of  sanguinary  hue 
Not  always  glitter  in  my  view,) 


ANNUS  MEMORABfLlS.  207 

Till,  settling  on  the  current  year, 
I  found  the  far-sought  treasure  near ;      ; 
A  theme  for  poetry  dlvliie, 
A  theme  t'  ennoble  even  mine. 
In  memorable  eighty-nine. 

.  The  spring  of  eighty-nine  shall  be 
An  era  chcrish'd  long  by  me, 
Which  joyful  I  will  oft  record^ 
And  thankful  at  my  frugal  board ; 
For  then  the  clouds  of  eighty-eight 
That  threatened  England's  trembling  state 
With  loss  of  what  she  least  could  spare, 
Her  sovereign's  tutelary  care, 
One  breath  of  Heaven,  that  cried — Restoxe'i 
Chas'd,  never  to  assemble  more  ; 
And  far  tlie  richest  crown  on  eyth, 
If  valued  by  its  wearer's  worth, 
The  symbol  of  a  righteous  reign 
Sat  fast  on  George's  brows  again. 

Then  peace  and  joy  again  possess^ 
Our  Queen's  long  agitated  breast ; 
Such  joy  and  peace  as  can  bo  known 
By  BufiTrers  like  herself  alone, 
Who,  losing,  or  supposing  lost. 
The  goo4  "on  earth  they  valu'd  most, 
For  that  dear  sorrows'  sake  forego 
All  hope  of  happiness  below. 
Then  suddenly  regain  the  prize,  * 

And  flash  thanksgivings  to  the  skies ! 

O  Queen  of  Albion,  queen  of  isles  * 
Since  all  thy  tears  wore  chang'd  to  smiley 
The  eyes  that  never  saW  thee  shino 
Witli  joy  not  unallied  to  thine, 
Transports  rtbt  chargeable  ^^ith  art 
Illume  the  land's  remotest  part, 


!fc: 


2r»  HYMN. 

And  strangers  to  the  air  of  courts, 
Both  in  tlioir  toils  and  at  thci^  sportt. 
The  happiness  of  answerM  ptay'rs, 
That  gilds  thy  features,  show  in  thell*. 

If  they  who  on  thy  state  attend, 
Awe-struck,  before  thy  presence  bend, 
*T\b  but  the  natural  effect 
Of  grandeur  that  ensures  respect ; 
But  she  is  something  more  than  queen, 
Who  is  belov'd  where  never  seen. 


HYMN, 

For  the  use  of  the  Sunday  School  at  Oimef, 

HEAR,  Lord,  the  song  of  praise  and  pray'r 

In  heav'n  thy  dwelling  place, 
From  infants  made  the  publick  caie, 

And  tahght  to  seek  thy  face. 

Thanks  for  thy  word  and  for  thy  day, 
And  grant  us,  we  implore, 
'  Never  to  waste,  in  sinful  play 
Thy  holy  sabbaths  more. 

Thanks  that  we  hear — but  O  impart 
•  To  each  desires  sincere. 
That  we  may  listen  with  our  hearty 
And  learn  as  well  as  hear. 

For  if  vain  thoughts  the  minds  engage 

Of  older  far  than  wey 
What  hope  that  at  our  heedless  age. 

Our  minds  should  e'er  be  free  f 


STANZAS.  soft 

Much  hope,  if  thou  our  spirits  take 

Under  thy  gracious  sway, 
Whi^anst  the  wisest  wiser  make^ 
.And  babes  as  wise  as  they. 

Wisdom  and  bliss  thy  word  bestows, 

A  sun  that  ne'er  declines, 
And  be  thy  mercies  shower'd  oa  those,    . 
.  "Who  plac*d  us  whcr9  it  shines. 


STANZAS 


hthjomed  to  the  Yearly  BUI  of  Mortality  of  ike  Parish 
of  JiU'Saints,  J{ortliampton^*  Anno  Domini  1787. 


Pallida  Mors,  aquo  pulsat  pede  pauperum  iahemat 

Regumque  turres.  Henice. 

Pale  Death  with  equal  foot  strikes  wide  ^e  door 
Of  xoyal  halls,  and  hovels  of  the  poor. 


WHILE  thirteen  moons  saw  smoothly  run 

The  Nen'd  barge-laden  wave, 
All  these,  life's  rambling  journey  done,     * 

Have  found  their  home,  the  grave. 

Was  man,  (frail  always)  made  more  frail 

Than  in  foregoing  years  ? 
Did  famine  or  did -plague  prevail. 

That  so  much  death  appears  ? 

*  Composed  for  John  Cos,  parish  clerk  of  NortbaxnpUMi. 


210  BILL  OF  MORTALITY 

No  ;  incse  wore  vig'rous  as  their  sires, 

Nor  plague  nor  famine  catne ; 
This  a'JJiual  trfente  Death  requires,  * 

And  never  waves  his  claiin. 

•    Like  crowded  (brest-trijes  we  staiid, 
And  some  are  mark'd  to  fall ; 
The  axe  will  smite  at  Grod's  command,  r 
And  soon  shall  smite  us  all. 

Green  as  the  bay-tree,  ever  green, 

With  its  new  foliage  on, 
The  gay,  the  thoughtless,  have  I  seen, 

I  pass'd — and  they  were  gone. 

Read,  ye  that  run,  the  awful  truth, 
With  which  I  charge  my  page  ; 

A  worm  is  in  the  bud  of  youth, 
And  at  the  root  of  age. 

No  prtseht  health  can^health  ensure 

For  yet  an  hour  to  come ; 
No  med'cine,  though  it  oft  can  cure. 

Can  always  balk  the  tomb. 

And  O  !  th%t  humble  as  my  lot. 

And  scom'd  as  is  my  strain, 
These  truths,  though  known^  too  much  for^otf 

I  may  not  teach  in  Yam, 

So  prays  your  clerk  with  all  his  heart. 

And  ere  he  quits  the  pen, 
Begs  you  for  once  to  take  his  part,  ■ 

And  answer  all — ^Amen ! 


J 


(211) 
ON  A  SIMILAR  OCCASION, 

FOk  THB  TEAR  1788 


Qu^x4idestf  memento 
Commoner e  aquHS.    QBterafiwmiaU 
Bkuferunter,  HotMe. 

Improve  the  present  hour,  for  all  heride 
It  a  mere  feather  on  a  torrent's  tide. 


COULl)  I,  from  Heav'n  inspired,  ai  soro  prenge 
To  whom  the  rising  year  sh^l  prove  his  last, 

As  I  can  niUDft>er  in  my  punctual  page. 
And  item  down  the  victims  of  the  past ; 

How  each  would  trembling  wait  the  mournful  sheet 
On  which  the  press  might  stamp  him  next  to  die. 

And  reading  here  his  sentence,  how  replbte 
With  anxious  meaning,  heavenward  turn  his  eye ! 

Time  then  would  seem  more  precious  than  the  Joys 
In  which  he  sports  away  the  treasure  now ;  • 

And  pray'r  more  seasonable  than  the  noise 
Of  drunkards,  or  the  musick-drawing  bow. 

Thftn  doubtless  many  a  trifler,  on  the  brink 
Of  this  world's  hazardous  and  headlong  shore, 

Forc'd  to  a  pause,  would  feel  it  good  to  think, 
Told  that  his  setting  sun  must  rise  no  more. 


213  BILL  OF  MORTALITY. 

Ah  self-deceiv'd !  Could  I  prophetick  say 
Who  next  is  fated,  and  who  next  to  fall. 

The  rest  might  then  seem  privileged  to  play ; 
But  naming  mnUf  the  voice  now  speaks  to  ALL. 

Observe  the  dappled  foresters,  bow  light 

They  bound  and  airy  o'er  the  sunny  glade- 
One  falls — the  rest,  wide  scattered  with  affiright,  * 
Vanish  at  once  into  tho  darkest  shade. 

Had  we  their  wisdom,  should  we,  often  wam'd, 
Still  need  repeated  warnings,  and  at  last,  . 

A  thousand  awful  admonitions  scorn'd, 
Die  self-accus'd  of  life  run  all  to  waste  ? 

Sad  waste !  for  which  no  after-thrift  atones. 
The  grave  admits  no  cure  for  guilt  or  sin ; 

Dew-drops  may  deck  the  turf  that  hides  the  bones. 
But  tears  of  godly  ^  grief  ne*er  flow  within. 

Learn  then  ye  living  !  by  the  mouths  be  taught 
Of  all  these  sepulchres,  instructors  true. 

That,  soon  or  late,  death  also  is  your  lot, 
And  the  next  opening  grave  ncay  yawn  for  yoir 


(213) 
ON  A  SIMILAR  OCCASION, 

FOE  THE   YEAR   1789. 


^^laddaqw  ibi  demum  morU  quietit.         ViAo. 
Thero  calm  at  length  he  breith'd  Ua  aottl  aiv«y. 


«  O  MOST  dfelightftd  hotir  by  xnaii 

Experienced  hbre  below, 
The  honlr  that  terminatos  his  epin^ 

His  foUji  and  his  wo ! 

Worlds  should  not  bribe  me  back  to  tread 

Again  life's  dredry  waste, 
To  see  agua  my  day  overspread 

With  all  the  gloomy  past. 

My  home  henceforth  is  in  the  skies. 

Earth,  seas,  and  smi,  adieu ! 
All  Hoav*n  unfolded  to  my  eyes, 

I  have  no  sight  for  you." 

So  spakp  Aspasio,  firm  possess*^ 

Of  faith's  supporting  rod, 
Then  breath'd  his  soul  into  its  rest. 

The  bosom  of  his  God. 

He  was  a  man  among  the  fcvr 

Sincere  on  virtue's  side ; 
And  all  his  stre'ngth  from  Scripture  driB#« 

To  hourly  use  applied. 


214  BILL  OF, MORTALITY. 

That  rule  he  priz'd,  by  tj^at  he  fear*dy 
lid  hated,  hop'd,  and  lov'd ;. 

Nor  ever  frown'd,  or  sad  appear*d 
But  when  his  heart  had  rov*d. 

For  he  was  frail  as  thou  or  I| 

And  evil  felt  within : 
But  when  he  felt  it  heav*d  a  sigh, 

And  loath*d  the  thought  of  sin. 

Such  liv*d  Asposio  ;  and  at  last 
CaU*d  up  from  Earth  to  Heav'n, 

The  gulf  of  death  triumphant  paM*d^ 
By  gales  of  blessing  driv'n. 

Hit  joys  be  minef  each  Reader  cries, 
When  my  last  hour  arrives : 

They  shall  bo  yours,  my  verse  replies, 
Such  only  |)e  your  lives • 


ON  A  SIMILAR  OCCASION, 

FOR  TUB  YEAR   1790. 


JVs  €cmmoneniim  recta  speme.  Bnchinin. 

Despise  not  my  good  counsel. 


HE  who  sits  from  day  to  day, 
Where  the  prisoned  lark  is  hung, 

Heedless  of  his  loudest  lay, 
Hardly  knows  that  ho  has  sung. 


BILL  OF  MORTALITY.  215 

Where  the  watchman  in  his  round 

Nightly  lifts  his  voice  on  high. 
None,  accustom'd  to  the  sound, 

Wakes  the  sooner  for  his  cry. 

So  your  verseman  I  and  clerk, 

Yearly  in  my  song  proclaim 
Death  at  hand— yourselves  his  marie- 

And  the  foes  unerring  aim. 

Duly  at  my  time  I  come, 

Publishing  to  all  aloud — 
Soon  the  grave  must  be  your  home, 

And  your  only  suit,  a  shroud. 

But  the  monitory  strain, 

Ofl  repeated  in  your  ears, 
Seems  to  sound  too  much  in  vain, 

Wins  no  notice,  wakes  no  fears. 

Can  a  truth,  by  all  eoi^esa'd 

Of  such  magnitude  and  weight, 
Grow,  by  being  oft  impress'd, 

Trivial  as  a  parrot's  prate  ? 

PleaiRire's  call  attention  t^Ibs^ 

Hear  it  often  as  we  may ; 
New  as  ever  seem  our  sins, 

Though  committed  every  day. 

Death  and  Judgment,  Heaven  and  Hell-^ 

These  alone,  so  often  heard. 
No  more  move  us  than  the  bell. 

When  some  stranger  is  interred. 

O  then,  ere  the  turf  or  tomb 

Cover  us  from  every  eye, 
Spirit  of  instruction  come. 

Make  us  learn,  that  we  must  die. 


ON  A  SIMILAR  QCCASXp^, 

FOR  TQ«  YVAA  1792. 


PWtx,  gtd  pottdt  rerum  cognqseere  eaustu^ 
Jitgue  metus  omnes  et  iTuxorabiU  fatum 
Subjecit  pedibusj  strepitumque  Acheromtis  atari  ! 

Virg 
Happy  the  mortal,  who  has  tracM  effects 
To  their  first  cause,  cast  fear  beneath  his  (eet^ 
And  death,  and  roaring  HelPs  Toracious  fire^  ^ 


THANKLESS  for  favours  from  on  high 

Man  thinks  he  fades  too  sp^  \ 
Though  'tis  hif  privilege  to  diO} 

Would  he  improve  the  lK>on.    . .        * 

But  he,  not  wise  enough  to  scan 

His  best  concerns  aright, 
Would  gladly  stretch  life's  little  span 

To  ages,  if  he  might. 

To  ages  in  a  world  of  pain,  * 

To  ages,  where  he  goes 
Gall'd  by  affliction's  heavy  chain, 

And  hopeless  of  repose. 

Strange  fondness  of  the  human  heart, 

Enamour'd  of  its  harm  ! 
Strange  world,  that  costs  it  so  much  smasrt,^ 

And  still  has  pow'r  to  charm. 


fr= 


BILL  OF  MI»TAL1TY.  817 

Wbenee  has  the  world  her  magick  pow*r  i 

Why  deem  we  death  a  foe  ? 
Becoil  firom  weary  life's  hest  honr^ 

AM  ^iMt  It^gqr  woii    . 

The  eante  is  Conscience— Ccmsdenoe  oft 

Her  tale  o^  guilt  t0aeim^ 
Her  T<»ce  is  terrible,  though  soft, 

Ahd  dread  of  death  ensues. 

Thea,  anxious  to  be  longer  spar'dy 
,  Man  loouras  his  fleeting  hieatli: 
All  evils  then  seem  light,  oom|^'4 
With  the  approach  of  Death. 

*TiB  Judgment  shakes  him,  there'ii  IImi  feat 

That  prompts  the  .wish  to  sti^ : 
He  has  incurred  a  hmg  aireai*) 

And  must  despair  {o  pay. 

Pay  /—follow  Christ,  and  all  is  paid  . 

His  death  your  peace  ens«re« ; 
Think  on  the  grave  wheie  he  fnm  hML^ 

And  calm  descend  to  your$. 
Vol.  n.  l« 


(218) 

ON  A  SIMILAR  OGGASiOir, 
worn  tmm  n^m  1793. 


IM  merigmUtm  koe  sie  mut  senteniia,  wl  eonservetiwr, 

€ke.  dB  Lb;. 
But  let  «•  all  wmem  in  thb  one  MatiaMat,  thil 
Uiiiift  Mered  bo  iiiTMate. 

Ho  Ktos,  who  1x708  to  God  alono 

And  oB  aro  doiid  booido  y 
For  other  soaroo  than  God  ie  aoae 

Whence  life  can  bo  anpf  lied.  * 

To  Uto  to  God  is  to  requite  • 

Hie  lore  aa  beet  we  aui^:* 
To  make  his  precepts  oar  delight^ 

His  proousio  oitt  stay.  • 

Bat  life,  within  a  narrow  rin^^ 

Of  ^ddy  joys  comprifl*d, 
Is  fiibely  nam'd,  and  no  saeh  thing,  • 

Bat  rather  death  disguis'd.  ^ 

Can  W&  IB  them  doserTcthe  name,   , 

Who  only  lire  to  prove 
For  what  poor  toys  they  can  disclaim 

An  endless  life  above. 

Who  maeh  diseased,  yet  nothing  feel ; 

Much  menac*d,  nothing  dread ,  * 

Have  wounds,  which  only  God  can  heal* 

Ytt  never  ask  his  aid  ? 


BILL  OF  MORTALITt.  219 

Who  deem  his  bouse  a  umIom  plaoe, 

Faith  want  of  common  eenie  ;    . 
And  ardour  in  the  Chriatian  race, 

A  hypocrite's  pretence  ? 

Who  trample  order ;  and  the  day, 

Which  €k>d  asserts  his  own, 
Dishonour  with  unhallow'd  play, 

And  worship  chance  alone  ? 

If  scorn  of  God's  commands,  impcess'd 

Qb  word  and  deed,  imply 
The  better  part  of  man  unbless'd 

With  life  that  cannot  die ; 

Such  want  it,  and  that  want  nnew^ 

Till  man  resigns  his  brealb, 
Speaks  him  a  criminal,  assur'd 

Of  everlasting  death. 

Sad  period  to  a  pleasant  course  I 

Tet  so  will  God  repay 
Sabbaths  profan'd  without  lemone^ 

And  mercy  east  away. 


(280) 
INSCRIPTION, 

FOB  TMH  TOMB  CV  MR.  HUIICTOII. 


PAUSE  here,  and  think :  a  monitorjr  thjvob 
Demands  one  moment  of  thy  fleeting  time. 

Consult  life's  silant  clock,  thy  bounding  v«m ; 
Seems  it  to  say — ^^  Health  here  has  kbg  to  veigD  ?" 
Hast  thou  the  vigour  of  thy  youth  ?  an  eye 
That  beams  delight  ?  a  heart  untaught  to  sigh  7 
Yet  fear.    Touth,  ofttimes  healthful  and  a,t  ease, 
Anticipates  a  day  it  never  sees ; 
And  many  a  tomb,  like  Uamiltan'gf  aloud 
Exclaims, "  Prepare  thee  for  an  early  shrQud.**,    . 


EPITAPH  ON  A  HARE. 


HERE  lies,  whom  hound  did  ne*er  pursuey 
Nor  swifter  grayhound  follow, 

Whose  foot  ne'er  tainted  morning  dew. 
Nor  ear  heard  huntsman's  halloo,  • 

Old  Tlney,  surliest  of  his  kind. 
Who,  nurs'd  with  tender  care, 

Audio  domestick  bounds  confin'd, 
Was  still  a  wild  Jack-hvre 


EPITAPH  ON  A  HARE. 
Tliough  duly  firom  my  hand  he  took 

His  pitUnce  ev'rj  night. 
He  did  it  with  a  jealous  lode, 

And,  when  he  could,  would  bite» 

His  diet  was  of  wheaten  bread. 
And  milk,  and  oats,  and  straw; 

Thistles,  or  lettuces  instead. 
With  sand  to  scour  his  maw. 

On  twigs  of  hawthorn  he  regal'd, 
.    On  pipp^'s  russet  peel. 
And,  when  his  juicy  salads  fail'd, 
Slic'd  carrot  pleased  him  weU. 

A  turkey  carpet  was  his  lawn 

Whereon  he  lov'd  to  bound. 
To  skip  and  gambol  like  a  fawn, 

And  swing  hi»  rump  around. 

His  firisking  was  at  ev'ning  hours. 

For  then  he  lost  his  fear, 
But  most  before  approaching  showers, 

Or  when  a  storm  drew  near. 

Eight  years  and  five  round  rolling  moons 

He  thus  saw  steal  away. 
Dosing  out  all  his  idle  noons. 

And  ev'ty  night  at  play. 

I  kept  him  fiv  his  humour's  sake, 

For  he  would  oft  beguile 
My  heart  of  thoughts,  that  made  it  ache, 

And  force  me  to  a  smile. 

But  now  beneath  this  walnut  shade 

He  finds  his  long  last  home, 
And  waits,  in  snug  concealment  laid, 

Till  gentler  Puss  shall  come 
19  •* 


221 


222  EPITAPAiUM  ALTERUM. 

He,  still  more  aged,  feels  the  shocks, 

From  which  no  care  can  save, 

And,  partner  once  of  llnej's  box, 

Must  soon  partake  his  grave. 


EPITAPHIUM  ALTKiUW; 

'Bic  etiam  jacet, 

Qui  totum  novenniam  vixit, 

Puss. 

Siste  paulisper. 

Qui  prseterituirus  os, 

Et  tecum  sic  reputa — 

Hunc  neque  canis  veiiaticus, 

Nee  plumbum  missile, 

Nee  laqueus, 

Nee  imbres  nimu, 

Confccere : 

Tamen  mortuus  est — 

EVmpriar  ego.  . 


(223) 

The  following  account  of«toe  treatment  of  his 
habas  was  inserted  by  mr.  cowper  in  the  gen- 
tleman's magazine,  whence  it  is  transcribed* 


IN  the  year  1774,  being  much  indisposed  both  in 
mind  and  body,  incapable  of  diverting  myself  either 
with  company  Or  books,  and  yet  in  a  condition  that 
made  some  diversion  necessary,  I  was  glad  of  any 
thing  that  would  engage  my  attention  withont  fa- 
'tiguing  it  The  children  of  a  neighbour  of  mine  had 
a  leveret  given  them  lor  a  plaything ;  it  was  at  that 
time  about  three  months  old.  Understanding  better 
how  to  tease  tlie  poor  creature  than  to  feed  it,  and 
soon  becoming  weary  of  their  charge,  they  readily  con- 
sented that  their  father,  who  saw  i*,  pining  and  grow- 
ing leaner  every  day,  should  offer  it  to  my  acceptance. 
I  was  willing  enough  to  take  the  prisoner  under  my 
protection,  perceiving  that,  in  the  management  of  such 
an  animal,  and  in  the  attempt  to  tame  it,  lyaliould  find 
just  that  sort  of  employment  which  my  case  required. 
It  was  soon  known  among  thp  neighbours  that  I  waifi 
pleased  with  the  present ;  and  the  consequence  was, 
that  in  a  short  time  I  had  as  many  leVeretd  c^^ed  to 
me  as  would  have  stocked  a  padcb)ck.  I  undertook  the 
care  of  three,  which  it  is  necessary  that  I  should  hero 
distinguish  by  the-  names  I  gare  them^-— Puss,  Tiney, 
and  Bess.  Notwithstanding  the  two  feminine  appellm* 
tives,  I  must  inform  you  that  they  were  all  males.  Im- 
mediately commencing  carpenter,  I  built  them  houses 
to  sleep  in ;  6ach  had  a  separate  apartment,  so  contriy* 
ed,  that  their  ordure  would  pajs  through  the  bottom 
of  it ;  an  earthen  pan  placed  under  each  received  what* 
floeyor  fell,  which  being  duly  emptied -and  washed) 
they  were  thu^kept  perfectly  sweet  and  clean.  In  tho 
daytime  tliey  had  the  range  of  a  hall,  and  at  night  re* 


L 


9 
(  S224  ) 

tiredi  each  to  his  own  bea,  never  intrudhig  into  that  of 
another. 

Puss  grew  presently  familiar,  i^ould  leap  into  my 
lap,  raise  himself  upon  his  hinder  feet,  and  bite  the 
hair  from  my  temples.  He  would  suffer  me  to  take 
him  up,  and  to  carry  him  about  in  my  arms,  and  has 
more  than  once  fallen  fast  asleep  upon  my  knee.  lie 
was  ill  three  days,  during  which  time  I  nursed  him, 
kept  him  apart  from  his  fellows,  that-  they  might  not 
molest  him,  (for,  like  many  other  wild  animals,  they 
persecute  cme  of  their  own  species  that  is  sick,)  and  by 
instant  care,  and  trying  him  with  a  variety  of.  herbs, 
restored  him  to  perfect  health.  No  creature  could  be 
mote  grateful  than  my  patient  aflcr  his  recovery ;  a 
•element  which  he  most  significantly  expressed  by 
licking  my  hand,  first  the  back  pf  it,  then  the  palm, 
then  every  finger  separately,  then  between  all  the  fin- 
gers, as  if  anxious  to  leave  no  part  of  it  unsalutcd  ;  a 
ceremony  which  he  never  performed  but  once  again 
upon  a  similar  occasion.  Finding  him  extremely  tract- 
able,  I  made-  it  my  custom  to  carry  him  always  afler 
breakfast  into  the  garden,  where  he  hid  himself  gene- 
rally under  the  leaves  of  a  cucumber  vine,  sleeping  or 
chewing  the  cud  till  evening :  in  the  leaves  also  of 
that  vine  ho  found  a  favourite  repast.  I  had  not  long 
habituated  iiim  to  this  taste  of  liberty,  before  he  began 
to  be  impatient  for  the  return  of  the  time  when  he 
might  enjoy  it.  He  would  invite  me  to  the  garden  by 
drumming  upon  my  knee,  and  by  a  look  of  such  ox- 
pressicm,  as  it  was  not  possible  to  misinterpret.  If  this 
rhetorick  did  not  immediately  succeed,  he  would  take 
tlie  skirt  of  my  eoat  between  his  te^th,  and  pull  at  it 
with  all  his  force.  Thus  Puss  might  be  said  to  be  per* 
fectly  tamed,  the  shynr^ss  of  his  nature  was  done  away, 
and  on  the  whole  it  was  visible  by  many  symptoms 
which  1  have  not  room  to  omunerate,  that  he  was  hap 
]^er  in  human  society  than  when  shut  up  with  his  na 
tnral  companions. 


N«t  80  Tfnej ;  Qpoa  lum  tho  kindert  treatment  bad 
ftot  the  least  effect.  He,  too,  was  sick,  and  in  his  sick* 
Bess  had  an  equal  share  of  my  attention ;  hot  if  aflei 
his  recovery  I  took  the  liberty  to  stroke  him,  he  would 
fnmt,  strike  with  his  ^e  feet,  spring  forward,  and 
^e.  He  was,  however,  very  entertaining  in  his  way ; 
even  his  snrliness  was  matter  of  mirth ;  and  in  his 
^y  he  preserved  snch  an  air  of  gravity,  and  perform- 
ed his  feats  with  such  a  solemnity  of  manner,  that  is 
him,  too,  I  had  an  agreeable  c<»npamon. 

Boss,  who  died  soon  after  he  was  full  grown,  and 
whose  death  was  occasioned  by  his  being  turned  into 
his  oox,  which  had  been  washed,  while  it  was  yet  damp, 
was  a  hare  of  great  humour  and  droll^ryj  Fuss  was 
tamed  by  gentle  usage  ;  Tiney  was  not  to.be  tamed  at 
all :  ami  Bess  had:  a  courage Und  confidence  that  made 
him  tame  from  the  beginning.  I  always  admitted  them 
into  the  parlour  afler  supper,  when  the  carpet  afford- 
ing their  feet  a  firm  hold,  they  would  frisk,  and  bound 
and  play  a  thousand  gambols,  in  which  Bess,  being  re- 
markably strong  and  fearless,  was  always  superiour  to 
U»e  rest,  and  proved  himself  the  Vestris  of  the  party. 
One  evening  the  cat,  being  in  the  room,  had  the  hardi- 
ness to  pat  Bess  upon  the  cheek,  an  indignity  which 
he  resented  by  drumming  upon  her  back  with  such 
violence,  that  the  cat  was  happy  to  escape  from  under 
his  paws,  and  hide  herself. 

I  describe  these  animals  as  having  each  a  charao* 
ter  of  his  own.  Buch  they  were  in  fact,  and  theii 
countenances  wore  so  expressive  of  tliat  liharacter, 
that,  when  I  looked  only  on  the  face  of  either,  1  im- 
mediately knew  ithich  it  was.  It  is  said  that  a  shep<* 
herd,  however  numerous  his  Aock,  soon  becomes  so 
familiar  with  their  features,  that  lie  can,  by  that  indi* 
cation  only,  distinguish  each  from  all  the  rest ;  and 
yet,  to  a  common  observer,  the  difference  is  hardly 
perceptible.  I  doubt  not  that  the  same  discr'miination 
in  thii  cast  of  countenances  would  be  discoverable  in 


(280; 
Imtos,  waA  am  peniaaded  that  among  a  thousalicl'  of 
ibem,  no  tv^:^  could  be  founcl  exactly  aimUar ;  a  eirccui- 
^ance  litUe  imspQcted  by  thow  who  have  not  bad  q»> 
portunity  to  observe  it.  Theae  creatures  iiaTo  >a  sii^ 
gukr  sagacity  in  discovering  the  mimrtest  altenrtieB 
that  is  made  in  the  j>iace  to  which  tliey  are  accustoB^ 
ed  and  instantly  ap|>ly  their  nose  to  the  exannnatioa 
of  a  new  object.  A  small  hole  being  burnt  in  the  ear** 
pet,  it  was  mended  with  a  patch,  and  that  patch  in  a 
moment  underwent  the  strictest  scrutiny.  They  seem, 
too,  to  be  very  much  directed  by  the  smell  in  the  choice 
of  ihcir  favourites  ;  to  some  persons,  though  they  saw 
them  daily,  they  could  never  be  reconciled,  and  woi^ 
even  scream  when  they  attempted  to  touch  th^m ;  but 
a  miller  cpming  in,  engaged  their  affections  at  once 
his  powdered  coat  had  *charms  that  were  irresistible. 
It  is  no  wonder  that  my  intimate  acquaintance  with 
these  specimens  of  the  kind,  has  taught  me  to  hold  the 
sportsman's  amusf^ment  in  abhorrence :  he  JittJe  knows 
what  amiable  creatures  he  persecutes,  of  what  grati- 
tude they  are  capable,  how  cheerful  they  are  in  their 
spirits,  what  enjoyment  they  have  of  life,  and  that| 
impressed  as  they  seem  with  a  peculiar  dread  of  man, 
it  is  only  because  man  gives  them  peculiar  cause  fer  it. 

That  I  may  not  be  tedious,  I  will  just  give  a  short 
summary  of  these  articles  of  diet  that  suit  them  best 

I  take  it  to  be  a  general  opinion  that  they  graze,  but 
it  is  an  erroneous  one  ;  at  least  grass  is  not  their  sta- 
ple ;  they  seem  rather  to  use  H  medicinally,  soon  quit* 
ting  it  for  leaves  of  almost  any  kind.  Sowthistle,  dan- 
delion, and  lettuce,  are  their,  favourite  vegetables,  es- 
pecially the  last.  I  discovered  hy  accident  that  fina 
white  sand  is  in  great  estimation  with  them  ;  I  tnip- 
pose  as  a  digestive.  It  happened  that  I  was  cleaning 
a  bird  cage  while  the  bares  were  with  me :  I  placed  a 
pot  Ailed  with  such  sand  upon  the  floor,  which,  being 
at  once  directed  to  by  a  strong  instinct,  they  devoured 
voraciously  ;  since  tlint  i'niw  I  have  generally  taken 


^827) 
i  to.aee  ij^jtn  well  supplied  with  it.  They  account 
f^eeii  com  a  delicacy,  both  blade  and  stalk,  but  the  ear 
they  addom  eat:  atraw  of  any  kind,  especially  wheat 
atcaw,  is  axu)4her  of  their  dainties;  they  will  feed 
freedily  t^ii  oats,  but  if  foniie^ed  with  «lean  straw 
never  want  them  y  it  serrea  thera  also  for  a  bed,  and 
jf  shaken  up  daily,  will  be  kept  sweet  and  dry  ibr  a 
considerable  time.  They  do  not  Indeed  require  aro- 
matick  hnbs,  but  wilf  eat  a  stMU  quantity  of  them 
•with  great  reliiA,  aikt  are  particularly  fbnd  of  the  plant 
eallfid  musk :  they  seem  to  resemble  sheep  in  this,  that 
if  thflir  pasture  be  too  succulent,  they  are  Very  subject 
to  the  rot :  to  pj^erent  which)  I  always  made  bread 
their  principal  nourishment,  and,  filling  a  pen  with  it 
cut  into  small  squares,  placed  it  every 'erening  in  their 
chambers,  for  they  feed  only  at  evening,  and  in  the 
night :  during  the  winter,  when  vegetables  were  not 
to  be  got,  I  mingled  this  mess  of  .bread  with  shreds  of 
carrot,  adding  to  it  the  rind  of  apples  cut  extremely 
thin ;  for^  though  they  are  fond  of  the  paring,  the  ap- 
ple itself  disgusts  them.  These,  hoiMrever,  not  being 
a  sufficient  substitute  for  the  juice  of  summer  herbr, 
they  must  at  this  time  be  supplied  with  water ;  bdt  so 
plac^,  that  «they  camtot  overset  it  into  their  beds.  I 
must  not  omit,  that  occasionally  they  are  much  pleas- 
ed with  twigs  of  hawthorn  and  of  the  common  brier, 
eating  even  the  very  wood  whe»  it  is  of  considerable 
thickness. 

Bess,  I  have  said,  died  young ;  Tiney  lived  to  be 
nine  years  old,  and  died  at  last.  I  have  reason  to 
think,  of  some  hurt  in  his  loins  by  a  fall :  Puss  is  still 
living,  and  has  just  completed  his  tenth  year,  disco 
vering  no  signs  of  decay,  nor  even  of  age,  except  that 
he  is  grown  more  discreet  and  less  frolicksome  than 
he  was.  I  cannot  conclude  without  observing,  that  1 
have  lately  introduce<^  a  dog  to  his  acquaintance— a 
spaniel  that  had  never  seen  a  hare,  to  a  hare  that  had 
never  seen  a  spaniel.     I  did  it  with  ffrcat  caution,  bul 


(288) 
there  was  no  real  need  of  it.  Pofls  discorered  no  to- 
ken of  fear,  nor  Marquis  the  least  syinptom  of  hoatiBtj. 
There  is,  therefore,  it  should  seem,  no  xmioral  antqia- 
thy  between  dog' and  hare,  bat  the  parsaii  or  the  one 
occasions  the  flight  of  the  other,  and  the  dog  pnrraes 
becaose  he  is  trained  to  it ;  they  eat  bread  at  the  same 
time  01;^  of  the  sune  hand,  and  are  in  all  jtepects 
lociable  and  friendly. 

I  should  not  do  complete  ju^ce  to  my  8id>ject,  dii 
I  not  add,  that  they  have  no  iU  scent  faekinging  to* 
them;  that  they  are  indefictigably  nieo  in  keeping 
themselves  clean,  for  which  purpose  nature  has  fiir- 
nished  them  with  a  brush  under  eft^fix>t;  nnd  that 
they  are  never  infested  by  any  vermin. 
May  28, 1784. 


Mewufraaukm/ounfi  among  Mr,  Cov^er'9  popen, 

Tuesday,  March  9, 1786. 
This  day  died^Mior  Puss,  aged  eleven  yeaxAoieveii 
months.    Ho  died  between  twelve  and  one  at  noon,  et 
mere  old  age,  and  apparently  without  pain* 


£2VD  OF   VOL.  U. 


1>0EMS, 

BY  •       ' 

WILLIAM  COWPER,  ESQ. 

TOOETHBR  WITH  HIS 

POSTHUMOUS  POETRY, 

AND 

A  SKETCH  OF  HIS  LIFE 
BY  JOHN  JOHNSON,-LL.  D. 

THREE   VOLUMES    fN   ONE. 

NEW  EDITION. 

BOSTON 

PHILLIPS,  S.AMPSON,  &  CO 

110  WASHINGTON  STREET 

1853. 


BIGHT  HONOURABLK 


EARL  SPENCER. 


MY  hOBDf 

A  GsiTEBJLL  request  having  encoura|red  me  to  liKBcoBie 
the  Editor  of  a  more  complete  collection  of  the  poet- 
humous  compoaitiona  of  my  revered  relation,  the  poot 
CowPEii,  than  has  hitherto  appeared,  I  consider  it  aa 
my  duty  to  the  deceased,  to  inscribe  the  volume  that 
contains  them  to  his  exalted  friend,  by  whom  the  ge- 
nius of  the  poet  was  as  justly  appreciated,  as  the  virtues 
of  the  moralist  were  effectually  patronized.  It  would 
be  impertinent  in  me  to  attempt  any  new  encomium 
on  a  writer  so  highly  endeared  to  every  cultivated 
mind  in  that  country  which  it  was  the  favourite  exer- 
cise of  his  patriotick  spirit  to  describe  and  to  celebrato : 
but  t  may  be  allowed  \q  observe,  that  one  <^  tho  few 
additions  inserted  in  tliis  collection  will  be  particular- 
ly welcome  to  every  reader  of  sensibility,  as  an  eulogy 
on  that  attractive  quality  so  gracefuUy  visible  in  all 
the  writings  of  Cowper. 

Permit  me  to  close  this  imperfect  tribute  of  my  re- 
lict, by  saying,  it  is  my  deep  sense  of  those  impor- 
tant services,  for  which  the  afflicted  poet  was  indebted 
to  the  kindness  of  Lord  Spehcer,  that  impels  me  to 
the  Hberty  I  am  now  taking,  of  thus  publickly  declar- 
ing myself 

Your  Lordship's 
Highly  obliged,  and 
Very  faithful  servant, 
JOHN  JOHNSON. 


PREFACE. 


It  if  incumbent  oh  me  to.  apprize  the  reader  tiiat, 
by  far  the  greater  part  of  the  poems  to  ^hich  I  have 
now  the  honour  to  introduce  him,  have  been  already 
published  by  Mr.  Hayley.  That  endeared  friend  of 
the  depeased  poet  having  enridied  his  copious  and 
faithful  life  of  him  with  a  large  collection  of  his  minor 
pieces  soon  after  his  death,  and  haying  rinee  gtyen  to 
the  world  a  distinct  edition  of  his  Tramdstions  from  the 
Latin  and  Italian  rerses  of  Milton,  erery  thing  seesn- 
ed  to  be  accomplished  that  the  merits  and  memory  of 
a  poet,  so  justly  popultf  as  Cowper,  appeared  to  re- 
quire. But  of  kte  years  a  fresh  and  detached  coHec* 
tioB  of  aU  his  poems  bentg  wished  for  by  his  friends,  I 
was  flattered  by  their  request,  that  I  ynvM  present 
them  to  the  public  as  the  editor  of  hts  third  poetical 
volume. 

Having  accepted  this  honourable  invitation,  my 
first  care  was  to  assemble  as  many  of  the  editions  dt 
the  two  former  volumes  as  I  could  possibly  meet  with, 
that  nothing  might  be  admitted  into  their  progeeted 
companion  which  the  publick  already  possessed  ts 
tkom.  With  one  slight  exception  I  believe  I  secdred 
that  desirable  point.  My  next  employment  was  tt 
make  sueh  a  copious  but  careful  selection  from  tas 
mipublished  poetry  of  Cowper,  which  I  happily  pos*  * 
sessed,  and  which  I  hod  only  imparted  to  a  few  fnends^ 
as,  while  it  gratified  his  admirers,  might  in  no  inataoiB 
detract  from  his  poetical  reputation.  I  should  tremUo 
for  the  hazard  to  whidi  my  partiality  to  the  compo- 
bitions  of  my  beloved  relation  exposed  me  in  dischtfg* 
ing  this  part  of  my  office,  if  I  did  not  hope  to  find  in 


PREFACE.  5 

the  reader  a  fondness  of  the  same  kind  >  and  if  1 
were  not  assured  that  a  careless  or  slovenly  habit,  in 
the  production  of  his  verses,  has  never  been  imputed 
to  the  author  of  the  Task. 

The  materials  of  the  volume  being  thus  provided, 
the  ascertainingr  their  dates  was  my  remaining  con- 
cern. In  a  few  instances  I  found  them  affixed  to  the 
poems  by  their  author ;  a  few  more  I  collected'  from 
intimations  in  his  letters ;  but  in  several,  the  difficulty 
of  discovering  them  pressed  upon  myself.  This  was 
especially  the  case  with  the  very  interesting  additional 
poem  addressed  by  Cowper  to  an  unknown  lady  on 
reading  "  the  Prayer  for  Jndifferetice."  Of  the  ex- 
istence of  £hese  verses  I  had  not  even  heard  till  I  was 
called  on  to  superintend  the  volume,  in  which  they 
make  their  first  publick  appearance.  1  am  inclined  to 
believe,  that  during  the  ten  years  of  my  domestick 
intercourse  with  the  poet,  they  had  never  occurred  to 
his  recollection.  He  appears  to  have  imparted  them 
only  to  his  highly  valued  and  aifeetionate'relative,  the 
Reverend  Martin  Madan,  brother  of  the  late  Bishop 
of  Peterborough,  from  whose  Ckvmmon-plaoe  Book' 
they  were  transcribed  by  his  daughter,  and  kindly 
cotnmuiiieated  to  me.  There  being  nothing  in  Mr. 
Madan's  copy  of  these  verses  from  which  their  date 
could  be  inferred,  it  was  only  by  a  minute  oomparison 
of  the  poem  itself  with  the  various  local  and  mental 
circumstances,  which  his  life  exhibits,  that  I  was  en-  ^ 
abled'  to  discover  the  year  of  their  production.  The 
labour  attending  this  and  other  instances  of  research, 
in  which  I  have  been  obliged  to  engage  for  the  pur-' 
pose  of  ascertaining  the  dates  of  several  minor  poems, 
will  be  best  understood  by  those  who  are  practically 
acquainted  with  similar  investigations.  Afler  all, 
there  ate  some  of  which  no  diligence  of  mine  could 
develope  the  exact  time ;  but  with  the  greater  number 
I  trust  their  proper  order  of  succession  has  been  care 
fully  secured  to  them.  * 


6  I'REFACE. 

From  tliis  brief  account  of  tho  volume  befoie  the  • 
reader,  I  pass  on  to  the  memoir  of  its  author.  Had  I  not 
alrcadj  embarked  in  a  preparation  of  the  poems,  wlien 
I  was  requested  to  prefix  a  sketch,  of  the  poet's  life,  an 
unaffected  distrust  of  my  ability  to  achieve  it  would 
have  precluded  me  from  making  such  an  attempt ;  but 
a  peculiar  interest  in  these  relicks  of  Cowper  having 
been  wrought  into  my  feelings,  while  I  was  arranging 
them  for  the  press,  I  was  unwilling  to  shrink  from  a 
proposed  task,  by  which  I  might  hope  to  contribute,  in 
some  degree,  to  the  "expanding  renown  of  my  revered 
relation.  I  therefore  venture  to  advance  on  the  only 
path  in  the  wild  field  of  biography,  in  which  my  hum- 
ble steps  could  accompany  Cowper,  namely,  that  in 
which  I  could  simply 

: ' — "retrace 

(As  in  a  map,  the  voyager  his  course,) 

The  windings  of  his  way  through  many  years.'' 

lata  thsM  pa&  il  nugM  ■ena  pTesamptaotu  in  me  to 
invite  thosD  yrkam  my  kind  and  coneAant  friend,  Mr. 
Haylsy,  faa*  mftdo  intknsteiy  ao^nunt^  with  Cowper, 
by  his  extensiTe  and  jnot  biography ;  btot  to  suck 
readers  as  ha{$»en  not  to  ImTe  penusid  fats  ibo««  copioiai 
work,  I  may  venture  to  reoemmend  the  ftHowisg 
^  "Slup  of  Cowper^  Lift,''  as  possessing  one  of  itk 
prime  chMracteristieks,  nmm^,  fidelity  of  delineatio% 

Bedford^  jjpril,  1815 


CONTENTS, 


Sketch  of  the  Author's  life             -           -  13 

Verses  written  on  finding  the  Heel  of  a  Shoo  •  62"^ 
Stanzas  on  the  First  Publication  of  Sir  Charles* 

Grandison              -            -            «            -  63 

Epis^  to  Robert  Lloyd,  Esq.         -            -  64 

Fifth  Satire  of  the  First  Book  of  Horace       -  67 

Ninth  Satire  of  the  First  Book  of  ttoraca  74 

Address  to  Miss ,  on  reading  tlM  prayer  fbt 

Indifibrence            •           •           •           .  79 

Translation  from  Virgi!      ...  82 

Ovid.  TriBt.  Lib.  V.  Eleg .  XH.           -           -  94 

A  Tale  fonnded  on  a  Fact  '.^          ^  .96 

Translation  of  a  Simile  in  Para^M  LosI        •  98 

Translation  of  DrydenV  Epigram  on  Milton .  ib. 
To  the/Rey.  Mr.  Newton,  on  his  Swtamfiww 

Ramsgate              •           -*           •           *  99 

Cove  Abased           -           *           -           -  ib. 

Poetical  Epistle  to  Lady  Anitoa-        -           -  160 

From  a  letter  to  ther  Rev.  Mr.  Newton*      •  104  - 
Tlie  Colnbriad               .           -            -           -105 

On  Friendship         -            ...            -  106. 
^n  the  Loss  of  the  Royal  George 
In  Submersionem  Navigii,  cni  Georgios  Regalii 

Nomen,  indltum           -           -           •  114 

Song  on  Peace              -            -         *  -            -  115- 

,  Song,  written  at  the  request  of  Lady  Ansten  116 

Verses  from  a  Poem  entitled  Valediction        -  117 

Iri  Brevitatem  Vitte  Spatii  Hominibus  concessi  119 

On  the  Shortness  of  Human  life      -            -  '     ib. 


B  CONTENTS. 

^Epitaph  on  Johnson            ...  120 

To  Miss  C ,  on  her  Btrdi-day       -           •  ib. 

Gratitnde    -           -           -           -            -  121 

Th^Flatting  Mill         -           -            •            •  123 

Lines  for  a  Memorial  of  Ashley  Cowperi  Esq.  124 

On  the  Queen's  Visit  to  London         -           -  ib. 

The  Cock-fighter's  Garland  ...  127 
On  the  Qenefit  received  by  his  Majesty  from 

Sea-Bathing     -           •           -           .  130 

Hor.  Lib.  L  Ode  IX.                -           -           •  ib. 

•Hor.  Lib.  L  Ode  XXXVn.             -           •  131 

Hor.  B.  L  Ode  XXXVm.        -           -           -  132 

Hor.  Lib.  n.  Ode  XVL       ...  ib. 

Latin  Verses  to  the  Memory  of  Dr.  Lloyd     -  134 

The  same  in  English          ...  135 

To  Mrs.  Throekmorton            -           -       *     -  136 
Inscription  for  a  Stone  erected  at  the  sowing  of 

a  Grove  of  Oaks               -           -            -  137 

Another,  for  a  Stone  erected  on  a  similar  occasioo  1 38 

Hymn  for  the  Sunday  School  at  Olney          -  ib. 
On  the  late  indecent  Liberties  taken  with  the 

Remains  of  Mitton      •          -          •  139 

To  Mrs.  King 141 

Anecdote  of  Homer            -           -           -  142 
In  Memory  of  the  late  J.  Thornton,  Esq.        -  144 
The  Four  Ages       ...           -  143» 
The  Judgment  of  the  PoeU      •          •            -  147 
To  Charles  Diodati  ,          •           -           -  150 
On  the  Death  of  the  University  J)eadle  at  Cam- 
bridge              -         .  -            -            •     •  153 
On  tfee  Death  of  the  Bishop  of  Winchester   -  154  ^ 
To  his  Totor,  Thomas  Young         -           -  157* 
On  tlio  Approach  of  Spring     -            -            -  101 
To  Charles  Diodati               -             -             -  1G5 
*  Conipo.^ed  in  the  Author^s  Nineteenth  Yoa^    -  l('3 
ICpiLTain. — On  IImj  Inreutor  of  Guns          -  '  ITI 
KpI  -rajii — To  Luon«»ra,  tHii«fiii}r  at  lionw        •  ITu* 
Ivr-TSMJi     -  "     •  '•  •.   •    ,it«       .              .        •      .  iJj 


The  Cottager  and  kis  Jjandlord  •  -        173 

To  Chtistiana,  Queen  «€  Sweden  -  -  ib. 

•  On  the  Death  of  a  FhyBiciaa  •  -        174 

Ob  the  Death  of  the  Bishop  of  Elj  •  K6 

Nature  unimpaired  by  Tioi*    -  •  -        178 

Onther^latonickldea        ...  181 

To  his  father    -  -  -  -  -        182 

To  Sialsillus,  a  Roman  Poet  -  -  187 

To  Giovanni  BattiMa  Manso,  Marquii  of  Villa       189 
On  the  Death  of  Damon    -  -  -  193 

An  Ode  addressed  to  Mr.  John  Koose  -        203 

Sonnet 207 

Sonetto  -  .  -  -  -  ib. 

' '  Sonnet         ...  -  208 

Sonetto  -  •  -  -  .  ib. 

Canzone       •  -  •.    .     -  -  •  209 

Canzone.  -  -  -  *      -  •      ^ib 

-"  Qonnet.T-To  Charles  IModati        .  .  210 

Sonetto  .  -  -  -  •         ib. 

Soimet         ...  -  *  211 

Soaetto  -        .  -  -       .    -  .  ib. 

aoqoet  '     -        .  -  -  -  %       219 

Sonetto  -  -  -  -  -  -       ib. 

Bp^ph  pn  Mrs,  M.  Higgins,  of  Weston  *  213 

The  Retired  Cat  -  -  -  "         '^^,j 

^  JWaydleyQftlt^         .  .  -  .  217 -X 

- 1^  the  Nighimgalo      -  -  -  -        222  f 

Lines  written  for  Insertion  in  a  collection  of 

Hand-writings  and    Signatures  made  by 

,     Miss  Patty,  Sister  of  Hanaah  Moi%  -        223 
Epitaph  on  a  Redbreast      ...  ib. 

Sonnet  to  W.  Wilberforce,  Bs^  .  -        224 

Epi^am      -  -  -  -  -  225 

-     To  Dr.  Austin  -  -  .-        "  -        226 

Sonnet,  aiddressod  to  William  Hajley,  Esq.  227    « 

Ciatharina 228 

An'Ppitaph  ....  229    . 

^Epitaph  on  Fop  ....        230 


lu                  ■  coNTEirrs. 

Sonnet  to  George  Romncy,  Esq.   -           - 

330 

On  receiving  Hayley'i  Fietiir* 

m 

Epitaph  on  Mr.  Chester,  of  Chioheley      - 

23S 

On  a  Plant  of  Virgin's  bower 

ib 

To  my  cousin,  Anna  Bodham 

23a 

Inscription  for  an  Hermitage  in  the  Aiithor*s 

Garden 

234 

.    To  Mrs.  Unwin            •           .           -           . 

ib 

To  John  Johnson     - 

235 

To  a  young  Friend       .           •           .           • 

236 

A  Tale 

ib 

To  William  Hayley,  Esq. 

240 

On  a  Spaniel,  called  Beau,  killing  a  Burd  - 

241 

Beau's  Reply 

242 

Answer  to  Stanzas  addressed  to  Lady  HedLoth 

243 

To  the  Spanish  Admiral,  Count  .GnTioa 

ib. 

/       On  Flaxman's  Penelope      •           r            -    ' 

244 

/      yOn  receiving  Heyne's  Virgil  -           -           - 

V  JZxoMary 

/^  Monies  Glacialee 

9>. 

245  )( 

947 

/  .    On  the  Ice  Islands              -           -           •    ^ 
'-H^he  Cartaway              -           -        •  . 
f   Thrax          .           -           .       -    .           » 

249 

251-^ 

263 

The  Thracian  •           -           •           -           • 

254 

Mutua  Beneyolentia 

a.       , 

Reciprocal  KindneM    •           •           •   -       • 

256- 

Manuale       -            •            -            •           . 

257 

A  Manual         •           . 

258 

iEnigma       -           •           -           - 

260 

An  Enigma       -           •           •           • 

261 

Passe  res  Indigenra  -            -            •            • 

263 

Sparrows  self-domesticated      •           -            • 

263 

NuUi  to  facias  nimis  sodalem 

2^ 

Familiarity'Dangerous 

fl). 

.  Ad  Rubeculam  Iiivitatio      - 

265 

Invitation  to  the  Redbreast 

266 

StradcB  Philomela    -             -             .             - 

267 

Sfcrada's  Nightingale     -             -             •             - 

ib 

7ani. 


CONTENTS. 

Anus  Sfficularis       - 

Ode  on  the  Death  of  a  Ladj 

Victoria  Forensis-   • 

The  Canse  Wt 

Bombyx 

The  Silk  Wonn 

Imiocene  Pnedairiz  • 

The  Innocent  Thief    • 

Denneri  Anus    /     -  • 

Denner'8  Old  Woman 

LacrymiB  Piciom 

The  Tears  of  a  Painter 

Spe  Finis  '  - 

The  Maze 

Nemo  Miser  niii  eomparatm 

No  Sorrpw  peenliarto  the  SoSbittr 

Limaz         •  •  • 

The  Snail 

Bqnes  Academieos  • 

The  Cantib-      - 

The  SahMl,  by  VirgU 

From  the  Greek  of  JuHamui 

On  the  same,  byPalaadas  • 

An  Epitaph 

Another      -  -  • 

Another  •  • 

Another .     - 

By  CallimachiM  « 

OnMittiades  • 

On  an  Infant    •  • 

By  rieraclides        •  • 

On  the  Reed 

To  Health 

On  the  Astrologers      • 

On  an  Old  Woman  • 

On  Invalids      t  • 

On  Flatterers 

On  the  Swallow 


11 

-  oca 

270- 

«71 

872 

ib. 
S73 
S74 

fb. 
876 
877 
878 

ib. 
880 

lb. 

ib. 
881 

ib. 
868 
883 

ib. 
384 
889 

ib. 
890 

ib. 

ib. 

adi 

ib. 

ib. 
898 

ib. 

ib. 
8^ 
894 

ib. 

ib. 
295 

ib. 


*■■   '' 

j 

J2                            CONTENTS. 

.   On  late  acquired  Wealth    - 
«|-  On  a  Tnie  Friend        -           •           • 
J  .  Ob  a  Bath,  by  Plato 

296 

.         ib. 

ib. 

On  a  Fowler^  hy  Isiodorus       •           • 

*       2^ 

QnNiobo     .            -            •            - 

lb. 

Ob  a  Good  Man          ... 

ib. 

pnaMieer 

296 

Another     ,      •           *           •           • 

ib. 

Another  -  '         •     . 

ib. 

899 

Qtt  the  Grasshopper    •            •           • 

ib. 

.  On  Hermocratia                 •           • 

300 

From  Menander           •           •          • 

'A. 

.  On  Pallas,  bathing              -   .       • 

301 

To  Demosthenes          •           «           « 

-       300 

.  On  a  Similar  Char^fti^                 # 

ft. 

On  an  Ugly  Fellow      • 

.       303 

On  a  Battered  Beauty 

ib. 

On  a  Thief      -           -. 

ib. 

On  Pedigree            .           •          • 

304 

On  Envy 

ib. 

By  Philemon           -           ^        .  • 

.         .    305 

By  Moschus     -           •    .       •        ♦  * 

306 

In  Ignorantem  arrogantem  Linum 

307 

.On  one  Ignorant  and  Arrogant 

ib. 

Prudens  Simplicitas 

ib. 

Prudent  Simplicity^     .            #           • 

ib. 

Ad  Amicum  Pauperum      •    ,       • 

a>. 

To  a  Friend  in  Diatreas 

m        Sb^ 

LexTalionis           -           .           . 

308 

Retaliation        -            •           • 

fb. 

De  Ortu  et  Oocasa          '  •           • 

ib. 

Sunset  and  Sunrise  .    •            • 

ft. 

LopuB  multis  Amicof          •           ^ 

309 

Avarus  et  Plutus           •            •           ^ 

r       311 

Papilio  et  Limax     - 

31S 

SKETCH 


o» 


THE  LIFE  OF  COWPER. 


William  Cowper,  the  subject  of  the  following  brief 
Memoir,  was  bom  at  Great  Berkhamstcad,  .in  Hert> 
fordilure,  on  th«  fifteenth  of  Norerabor,  1731.  Hia 
ftither,  tb«  ReT.  John  Cowper,  D.  D.  Reetcur  of  that 
place,  uni  one  of  the  chaplains  of  Kln^  George  the 
Second,  married  Anne,  daughter  oi  Roger  Donne, 
EUq.  of  Lo^iam-hall,  in  the  county  of  Norfolk.  She 
died  in  childbed  on  the  thirteenth  of  November,  1737 ; 
and  he  of  a  paralytick  seiznre  on  the  tenth  of  July. 
175C.  Of  five  Bons  and  two  daughters,  the  issue  of 
thi&  marriage,  William  and 'John  onfy  survived  thek 
parents :  the  rest  died  in  their  kifhncy. 

Such  was  his  origin ; — but  it  must  be  added,  that  tho 
highest  blood  of  the  realm  flowed  in  the  veins  of  tlie 
modest  and  unassuming  Cowper.  It  b  perhaps  already 
known  that  his  grandfather,  Spencer  Cowper,  was 
Chief  Justice  of  the  Common  Pleae,  and  next  brother 
to  William,  first  Earl  Cowper,  and  L6rd  High  Chan- 
cellor of  England :  but  hie  mother  was  descended 
through  the  families  of  Hippesley  of  Throughley,  in 
Sussex,  and  Pellet  of  Bolney,  in  tho  same  county 
from  tlio  several  noble  houses  of  West,  Knollys,  Ca- 
rey, Bullen,  Howard,  and  Mowbray  ;  and  so  by  four 
different' lines  from  Henry  the  Third  JLing  of  England. 
Distinctions  of  this  nature  can  sited  no  additional  lustre 

VoK.  2 


14  SKETCH  OF  THE 

on  the  memory  of  Cowper  ;  but  genius,  however  ex* 
alted,  disdains  not,  while  it  boasts  not,  the  splendour 
of  ancestry ;  and  royalty  itself  may  be  flattered,  and 
pe^aps  benefited,  by  discovering  its  kindred  to  such 
piety,  such  purity,  such  talents  as  his. 

The  simplicity  of  the  times  that  witnessed  the  child- 
hood of  Cowper,  assigned  him  his  first  instruction  at  a 
day-school  in  his  native  village.  The  reader  may  re- 
collect  an  allusion  to  this  circumstance  in  his  beauUfbl 
Monody  on  the  receipt  of  his  mother's  Pictnrei 

"  the  gard'ner  Robin,  day  by  day 
Drew  me  to  scbool  along  the  publick  way, 
Delighted  with  my  bauble  coach,  and  wrapt 
In  scarlet  mantle  warm,  and  velvet  cap.'' 

On  the  death  of  the  beloved  parent,  who  is  so  tenderly 
conunemorated  in  .that  exquisite  poem,  and  who  just 
lived  to  see  him  complete  his  sixth  year,  he  Vas  placed 
under  the  care  of  Dr.  Pitman,  of  Market-street,  a  few 
miles  distant  from  the  paternal  roof.  At  this  respecta- 
ble academy  he  remained  till  he  was  eight  years  of 
age,  when  Uie  alarming  appearance  of  specks  on  both 
his  eyes  induced  his  father  to  send  him  to  the  house  o£ 
a  female  oculist  in  London. .  Her  attempts,  however, 
to  relieve  him,  were  unsuccessful,  and  at  the  expira- 
tion of  two  years  he  exchanged  her  residence  for  that 
of  Westminister-school,  where,  sometime  aderwards  a 
/emedy  was  unexpectedly  provided  for  him  in  the 
small-pox,  which,  as  he  says  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Hayley, 
•*  proved  the  better  occulist  of  the  two."  What  de- 
gree of  profici^incy,  as  to  the  rudiments  of  education, 
ho  carried  with  him  to  this  venerable  establishment,  at 
tlie  head  of  which  was  Dr.  Nichols,  does  not  appear, 
but  that  he  left  it  in  the  year  1749,  with  scholastick 
attainments  of  the  first  order,  is  beyond  a  doubt. 

Afler  spending  three  months  with  his  father  at  Berk* 
hampstead,  lie  was  placed  in  the  family  of  a  Mr.  Chap* 
man,  a  solicitor,  in  London,  with  a  view  to  his  instruc 


LIFE  OF  COWFER.  15 

tion  in  the  practice  of  the  law.  To  tkb  gentleman  he 
was  engaged  by  articles,  for  three  years.  The  oppor- 
tunities, however,  which  a  residence  in  the  house  of 
his  legal  tutor  afforded  him,  for  attaining  the  skill  that 
he  was  supposed  to  be  in  search  of,  were  so  far  from  at- 
taching him  to  legal  studies,  that  he  spent  the  greater 
part  of  his  time  in  the  house  of  a  near  relation.  This 
he  playfully  confesses  in  the  following  passage  of  a  let- 
ter to  a  daughter  of  that  relative,  more  than  thirty  years 
after  the  time  he  describes :  '^  I  did  actually  Uve  three 
years  with  Mr.  Chapman,  a  solicitor,  that  is  to  say,  I 
slept  three  years  in  his  house ;  but  I  lived,  that  is  to 
say,  I  spent  my  days  in  Southampton-row,  as  you  very 
well  remenfber.  There  was  I,  and  the  future  Lord 
Chancellor,  constantly  employed  from  morning  to 
night  in  giggling  and  making  giggle,  instead  of  study- 
ing the  law.  Oh  fie,  cousin !  how  could  you  do  so  ?'* 
Tlie  subject  of  this  sprightly  remonstrance  was  the 
lady  Heaketh,  who  so  materially  contributed  to  the 
c6mfort  of  the  dejected  poet  in  his  declining  years ', 
and  the  chancellor  alluded  to  was  lord  Thurlow.  This 
trifling  anecdote  is  no  otherwise  worthy  of  record, 
than  as  it  may  serve  to  show,  that  the  profession  which 
his  friends  had  selected  for  him,  had  nothing  in  it  con- 
genial with  the  mind  of  Cowper. 

The  three  years  for  which  he  had  been  consigned 
to  the  ofHce  of  the  solicitor  being  expired,  at  the  age 
of  twenty-one  he  took  possession  of  a  set  of  chambers 
in  the  Inner  Temple.  By  this  step  he  became,  or  ra- 
ther ought  to  have  become,  a  regular  student  of  law  ; 
but  it  soon  appeared  that  the  higher  pursuits  of  jurispru- 
dence were  as  little  capable  of  fixing  his  attention,  aa 
the  elementary  parts  of  that  science  had  proved.  It  i:i 
not  to  be  supposed,  indeed,  that  at  this  maturor  age,  ho 
continued  those  habits  of  idleness  and  dissipation  which 
have  already  been  noticed ;  but  it  is  certain,  from  a 
colloquial  account  of  his  e^rly  years,  with  which  he 
favoured  his  friend  Mr.  Hayley,  that  literature,  and 


16  SKETCH  OF  THE 

particularly  of  a  poetical  kind,  was  his  principal  pur 
suit  in  the  Temple.  In  the  cultivation  of  studies  ad 
agreeable  to  his  taste,  he  could  not  fail  to  associate 
occasionally  with  such  of  his  Westminster  school-fel- 
lows as  were  resident  in  London,  and  whom  he  knew 
to  be  eminent  literary  characters.  The  elder  Colman, 
Bonnet  Thornton,  and  Lloyd,  were  especially  of  this 
description.  With  these,  therefore,  he  seems  to  hav9 
contracted  the  greatest  intimacy,  assisting  the  two  for- 
mer in  their  periodical  publication,  The  Connoisseur ; 
and  the  latter,  as  Mr.  Hayley  conjectures,  in  the  works 
which  his  slender  finances  obliged  him  to  engage  in. 
The  Duncombes  also,  -father  and  son,  two  amiable 
scholars  of  Stocks,  in  Hertfi^rdshiro,  lAid  intimate 
friends  of  his  surviving  parent,  were  among  the  writers 
of  the  time,  to  whose  poetical  productions  Cowper  con- 
tributed. In  short,  the  twelve  years  which  he  spent  in 
the  Temple,  were,  if  not  entirely  devoted  to  classical 
pursuits,  yet  so  much  engrossed  by  them  as  to  add 
little  or  nothing  to  the  slender  stock  of  legal  knowledge 
which  he  had  previously  acquired  in  the  bouse  of  the 
solicitor. 

The  prospect  of  a  profesetonal  Income  of  his  own 
acquiring,  under  circumstances  like  these,  bei&g  out  of 
the  question,  and  his  patrimonial  resources  being  near* 
ly  exhausted,  it  occurr^  to  him,  towards  the  end  of  the 
above-mentioned  period,  that  not  only  was  his  long 
cherished  wish  of  settling  in  matrimonial  life,  thus 
painfully  precluded,  but  he  was  even  in  danger  of  per- 
sonal want.  It  is  not  unlikely  that  his  friends  were 
aware  of  the  probability  of  such  an  event,  from  the 
uniform  inattention  ho  had  shown  to  his  legal  studies , 
for  in  the  thirty -first  year  of  his  age  they  procure|d  him 
a  nomination  to  the  offices  of  reading-clerk  and  clerk 
of  the  private  CommittiBes  in  the  House  of  Lords- 
But  he  was  by  no  means  qualified  for  discharging  the 
duties  annexed  to  either  of  those  employments  ;  nators 
having  assigned  him  such  an  extreme  tenderness  of 


LIFE  OF  COWPER.  i7 

ipirit;  as,  to  use  his  own  powerful  expression,  made  a 
publick  exhibition  of  himself,  under  any  circumstances, 
"  mortal  poison"  to  him.  No  sooner,  therefore,  had  he 
adverted  to  the  consequence  of  his  accepting  so  con* 
spicuous  an  appointment,  the  splendour  of  which  he 
confesses  to  have  dazzled  him  into  a  momentary  con- 
sent, than,  it  forcibly  striking  him  at  the  same  time, 
that  such  a  favourable-  opportunity  for  his  marrying 
might  never  occur  again,  his  mind  became  the  seatof  the 
most  conflicting  sensations.  These  continued  and  in* 
creased;  for  the  ^ace  of  a  week,  to  such  a  painful  de- 
gree, that  seeing  no  possible  way  of  recovering  any 
measure  of  his  former  tranquillity,  except  by  resigning 
the  situation  which  the  kindness  of  his  friends  had 
procured  him,  he  most  earnestly  entreated  that  they 
would  allow  him  to  do  so.  To  this,  though  with  great 
reluctance,  they  at  length  consented,  he  having  offer- 
ed to  exchange  it  for  a  much  less  lucrative  indeed,  b6t 
as  he  flattered  himself,  a  less  irksome  ofEce,  which 
was  alsw  vacant  at  that  time.,  namely,  the  clerkship  of 
the  journals  in  the  House  of  Lords. 

The  return  of  sometliing  like  composure  to  the  mind 
of  CJowper  was-  the  consequence  of  this  arrangement 
between  him  and  his  friends.  It  was  a  calm  however, 
but  of  short  duration ;  for  he  had  scarcely  been  possess 
ed  of  it  three  days,  when  an  unhi4>py  and  unforeseen 
incident  not  only  robbed  him  of  this  semblance  of  com 
fort,  but  involved  him  in  more  than  his  forme* 
distress.  A  dispute  in  parliament,  in  reference  to  th» 
last  mentioned  appointment,  laid  him  under  the  for- 
midable necessity  of  a  personal  appearance  at  the  bar 
of  the  house  of  Lords,  that  his  fitness  for  the  under 
taking  might  be  publickly  acknowledged.  The  trem- 
bling apprehension  with  which  the  timid  and  exquisitely 
sensible  mind  of  this  amiable  man  could  not  fail  to 
look  forward  to  an  event  of  this  sort,  rendered  every 
intermediate  attempt  to  prepare  himself  for  tlte  ex- 
unination  completely  abortive  •  and  the  conacious- 
2* 


/8  .  SKETCH  OF  THE 

ness  that  it  did  so,  accumulated  bis  terrours.  These 
had  risen,  in  short,  to  a  confusion  of  mind  so  incom- 
patible with  the  integrity  of  reason,  when  the  eve 
of  the  dreaded  ceremony  actually  arrived,  that  his  in- 
tellectual powers  sunk  under  it.  He  was  no  longer 
himself. 

In  this  distressing  sitnation  it  was  foui>d  neoessajy, 
in  the  month  of  Decen^r,  1763,  to  remove  him  to  St 
Alban's  ;  from  whence,  through  the  skilful  and  humane 
treatment  of  Dr.  Cotton,  under  whose  ciure  he  was  plac- 
ed, his  friends  hoped  that  he  would  soon  return  In  the 
full  enjoyment  of  his  former  faculties.  In  the  most 
materisd  part  of  their  wish  it  pleased  Grod  to  indulge 
them,  his  recovery  being  happily  effected  in  some 
what  lees  than  eight  months.  Instead,.however,  of  re- 
visiting the  scenes  in  which  his  painful  calamity  had 
first  occurred,  he  remained  with  his  amiable  physician 
nearly  a  twelve  month  after  he  had  pronounced  his 
cure :  and  that  from  motives  altogether  of  a  devotional 
kind. 

On  this  part  of  the  poet's  history  it  maybe  proper  to 
observe  that  although,  if  viewed  as  an  originating 
cause,  the  subject  of  religion  had  not  the  remotest  con- 
nexion with  his  mental  calamity ',  yet  no  sooner  bad 
the  disorder  assumed  the  shape  of  hypoehmuLriasis^ 
which  it  did  in  a  very  early  stage  of  its  progress,  than 
those  sacred  truths  which  prove  an  unfailing  source  of 
the  most  salutary  contemplation  to  the  lindisturbcd 
mind,  were,  through  the  influence  of  that  distorting 
medium,  conveiled  into  a  vehicle  of  intellectual  poi- 
son. 

A  most  erroneous  and  unhappy  idea  has  occupied  the 
n^inds  of  some  persons,  that  those  views  of  Christianity 
which  Cowper  adopted,  and  of  which,  when  enjoying 
the  intervals  of  reason,  he  was  so  bright  an  ornament, 
had  actually  contributed  to  excite  tne  malady  with 
which,  he  was  afflicted.  It  is  capable  of  the  clearest 
demonstration,  that  nothing  was  further  from  the  truth. 


LIFE  OF  COWPER.  19 

On  the  contrary,  all  those  alleviationB  of  sorrow,  those 
delightful  anticipations'  of  heavenly  rest,  those  healing 
consolations  to  a  wounded  spirit,  of  which  he  was  per- 
mitted to  taste,  at  the  periods  when  unintermpted  rea- 
son resumed  its  sway,  were  unequivocally  to  be  ascrib- 
ed to  the  operation  of  those  very  principles  and  views 
of  religion,  which,  in  the  instance  before  us,  have 
been  charged  with  producing  so  opposite  an  effect. 
The  primary  aberrations  pf  his  mental  faculties  were 
wholly  to  be  attributed  to  other  causes.  But  the 
time  was  at  hand,  when,  by  the  happy  interpoation 
of  a  gracious  Providence,  he  was  to  be  the  favoured 
subject  of  a  double  emancipation.  The  captivity  of 
his  reason  was  about  to  terminate ;  and  a  bondage, 
though  hitherto,  unmentioned,  yet  of  a  much  longer 
standing,  was  on  the  point  of  being  exchtoged  for  the 
delightful  of  all  freedom. 


*^  A  liberty  unsung 
By  poetS;  and  by  senators  unj^rais'd ; 
•  *  #  *     •      * 

E'en  "liberty  of  heart,*  derived  from  heav'n : 
Itought  with  His  blood  who  gave  it  to  mankind. 
And  seal'd  whh  the  same  token  \"\ 

To  the  invaluable  blesnng  of  such  a  change  he  was  as 
yet  a  stranger.  He  had  been  for  some  time  convinced, 
and  that  on  scriptural  grounds,  how  much  he  stood  in 
need  of  it,  from  a  perception  of  the  fetters  with  which, 
so  long  ma  he  was  capable  of  enjoying  them,  the  plea- 
sures of  the  world  and  of  sense  had  bound  his  heart ; 
but  till  the  moment  of  his  affliction,  he  had  remained 
spiritually  a  prisoner.  The  hour  was  now  come  when 
his  pri^n-doors  were  to  be  unfolded  ;  when  "  he  that 
openeth  and  60  man  shutteth,"  was  to  give  him  a  bless^ 
ed  experience  of  what 

"  Is  liberty :  a  flight  into  his  arms  < 

Ere  yet  mortality's  fine  Uireads  give  way, 

•  Rom.  vili.  21  t  The  Task,  Kook  V 


f 


80  SKETCH  OF  THE 

A  clear  escape  from  tyrannising"  sin, 
"  And  full  immunity  frcmi  penal  wo  !"* 

On  the  25th  of  July,  1764,  his  brother,  the  Re? 
John  Cowper,  Fellow  of  Bennet  College,  Cambridge, 
having  been  informed  by  Dr.  Cotton,  that  his  patient 
was  greatly  amended,  camo  to  visit  him.  The  first 
sight  of  so  dear  a  relative  in  the  enjoyment  of  health 
and  happiness,  accompanied  as  it  was  with  an  instan- 
taneous reference  to  Iiis  own  very  different  lot,  occa- 
sioned in  the  breast  of  Cowper  many  painful  sensations. 
For  a  few  moments,  the  cloud  of  despondency  which 
had  been  gradually  removing,  involved  his  mind  in  his 
former  darkness.  Light,  however,  was  approaching. 
Elis  brother  invited  him  to  walk  in  the  garden  ;  where 
BO  effectually  did  he  protest  to  him,  that  the  appre- 
hensions lie  felt  were  all  a  delusion,  that  he  burst  into 
tears,  and  cried  out,  "  If  it  be  a  delusion,  then  am  1 
the  happiest  of  beings."  During  tlie  remainder  of  the 
day,  which  he  spent  with  this  affectionate  brother,  the 
truth  of  the  above  assertion  became  so  increasingly 
evident  to  him,  that  when  he  arose  the  next  morning, 
he  was  perfectly  well. 

This,  however,  was  but  a  part  of  tlie  happiness 
which  the  memorable  day  we  are  now  arrived  at  had 
in  store  for  the  interesting  and  amiable  Cowper.  Be- 
fore he  left  the  room  in  which  he  had  breakfasted,  ho 
observed  a  Bible  lying  in  the  window-seat.  He  took  it 
up.  Except  in  a  single  instance,  and  that  two  months 
before,  he  had  not  ventured  to  open  one  ^ince  the  early 
days  of  his  abode  at  St.  Alban's."  But  the  time  was 
now  come  when  he  might  do  it  to  purpose.  The  pro- 
fitable perusal  of  that  divine  book  had  been  provided 
for  in  the  most  effectual  manner,  by  the  restoration  at 
once  of  the  powers  of  his  understanding,  and  the  su- 
peradded gift  of  a  spiritual  discemmeiit.  Under  these 
Givourable  circumstances,  he  opened  the  sacred  vo- 
*•  The  Task,  Book  V 


LIFE  OF  COWPER.  21 

Atane  at  that  passage  of  the  cpistlo  to  the  Romans,  where 
the  apostle  says,  that  Jesus  Christ  is  "  set  forth  to  be 
a  propitiation  through  faith  in  his  blood,  to  declare 
his  righteousness  for  the  remission  of  sins  that  are  past, 
through  the  forbearance  of  God."  To  use  the  ezprei* 
sion  employed  by  Cowper  himself,  in  a  written  docu- 
ment from  which  this  portion  of  his  history  is  extract- 
wd,  he  "  received  strength  to  believe  it ;"  to  see  the 
suitableness  of  the  atonement  of  his  own  necessity, 
and  to  embrace  the  gospel  with  gratitude  and  joy. 

That  the  happiest  portion  of  Cowper's  life  was  that 
oh  which  he  had  now  entered,  appears  partly  frofh  his 
own  account  ot  the  first  eighteen  months  of  the  suc- 
ceeding period,  and  partly  from  the  testimony  of  an 
endeared  friend,  in  a  letter  to. the  writer  of  this  brief 
memoir ;  a  friend,  who,  during  the  six  or  seven  years 
that  immediately  followed,  was  seldom  removed  from 
him  four  hours  in  the  day.  But  not  to  anticipate  what 
remains  to  be  offered,  the  devotional  spirit  of  his  late 
skilful  physician,  and  now  valuable  ^ost,  Dr.  Cotton, 
was  so  completely  in  unison  with  the  feelings  of  Cow- 
per, that  he  did  not  take  his  departure  from  St.  Alban's 
till  the  17th  of  June,  1765.  During  the  latter  part  of 
his  residence  there,  and  subsequent  to  the  Iiippy 
change  just  described,  he  exhibited  a  proof  of  the  in- 
teresting and  scriptural  character  of  those  views  of 
religion  which  he  had  embraced  in  the  composition  of 
two  hymns.  These  hymns  he  himself  styled  '^  sped 
mens"  of  his  "  first  christian  thoughts  ;'*  a  circum 
stance  which  will  greatly  enhance  their  value  in  tjio 
minds  of  those  to  whom  they  have  been  long  endeared 
by  their  own  intrinsick  excellence.  The  subject  of  the 
first  of  these  hymns  is  taken  from  Revelation,.xxi.  5. 
"  Behold,  I  make  all  things  new,"  and  begins,  "  How 
blest  thy  creature  is,  O  God."  The  second  under  the 
title  of  "  Retirement,"  begins  "  Far  from  the  world,  O 
Lord,  I  flee." 


«»  SKETCH  or  THE 

Karly  in  the  morning  of  the  day  above-mentioned, 
he  set  out  for  Cambridge,  on  his  way  to  Huntingdon, 
the  nearest  place  to  his  own  rcsidencoi  at  which  his 
brother  had  been  able  to  secure  him  an  asylum.  He 
adverts  with  peculiar  emphasis  to  the  sweet  commu- 
nion with  his  divine  Benefactor,  which  though  not 
alone,  he  enjoyed  in  silence  during  the  whole  of  this 
journey ;  on  the  Saturday  succeeding  which,  ho  ro 
paired  with  his  brother  to  his  destination  at  Hunting 
don. 

No  sooner  had  Mr.  John  Cowper  left  him,  and  re 
turnlid  to  Cambridge,  than,  to  use  his  own  words, 
"finding  himself  surrounded  by  strangers,  in  a  place 
with  which  he  was  utterly  unacquainted,  his  spirits 
began  to  sink,  and  he  felt  like  a  traveller  in  tlie  midst 
of  an  inhospitable  desert,  without  a  friend  to  comfort, 
or  a  guide  to  direct  him.  He  walked  forth  towards  the 
close  of  the  day,  in  this  melancholy  frame  of  mind,  and 
having  wandered  a  mile  from  the  town,  he  was  enabled 
to  trust  in  Him  «vho  carcth  for  the  stranger,  and  to  rest 
assured  that  wherever  He  might  cast  his  lot,  the  God 
of  all  consolation  would  still  be  near  him. 

To  the  question  which  the  foregoing  pathetick  pas- 
sage will  naturally  give  rise  in  every  feeling  mind, 
namely,  why  was  not  Mr.  Cowper  advised,  instead  of 
hazarding  his  tender  and  convalescent  spirit  among  the 
strangers  of  Huntingdon,  to  recline  it  on  the  bosom  of 
his  friends  ito  London  ?  it  is  incumbent  on  the  writer 
to  venture  a  reply.  It  is  presumed,  therefore,  that 
no  inducement  to  his  return  to  them,  which,  with  a 
view  to  their  mutual  satisfaction,  his  affectionate  rela* 
tives,  and  most  intimate  friends  could  devise,  was  ei- 
ther omitted  on  their  part,  or  declined  without  reluc- 
tance on  his.  But  in  the  cultivation  of  the  religious 
principles  which,  with  the  recovery  of  liis  reason,  he 
had  lately  imbibed,  and  which  in  so  distinguished  a 
manner  it  had  pleased  God  to  bless,  to  the  re-esta- 


LIFE  OF  COWPER.  23 

Mumment  ofhis  peace,  he  had  an  interest  to  provide  for 
tf7  n  tauctk  higher  order.  This  it  was  that  inclined  him 
4«>  a  Ur^  of  seclusion :  a  measure  in  the  adoption  of 
viFi.lch,  tliotigh  in  ordinary  cases,  he  is  certainly  not 
U^  be  quoted  as  an  example :  yet  considering  the  ez- 
trome  peculiarity  of  his  own,  it  seems  equally  certain 
thfit  he  is  not  to  be  censured.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
indeed,  from  tho  following  passage  of  his  poem  on  Re- 
tirement, that  had  his  mind  been  the  repository  of  loss 
exquisitely  tender  sensibilities,  he  would  have  returned 
to  his  duties  in  the  Inner  Temple  : 

"  Truth  is  not  local,  God  alike  pervades 
And  fiUs  the  world  of  traffick  and  the  shades, 
And  may  be  fear'd  amidst  the  busiest  scenes, 
Or  scorned  where  business  never  intervenes.'' 

Of  the  first  two  months  of  his  abode  in  Huntingdon, 
nothing  is  recorded,  except  that  he  gradually  mixed 
with  a  few  of  its  inhabitants,  and  cdrresponded  with 
some  of  his  early  friends.  But  at«the  end  of  that  time, 
as  he  was  one  day  coming  out  of  church,  afler  morning 
prayeiis,  at  which  he  appears  to  have  been  a  constant 
attendant,  be  was  accosted  by  a  young  gentleman  of 
engaging  manners,  who  exceedingly  desired  to  culti« 
vate  his  acquaintance.  This  pleasing  youth,  known 
afterwards  to  the  publick  as  the  Rev.  William  Caw- 
thome  Unwin,  Rector  of  Stock,  in  Essex,  to  whom  the 
aathor  of  the  Task  inscribed  his  poem  of  Tirocinium, 
was  so  intent  upon  acpomplishing  the  object  of  his 
wif^es,  that  when  he  took  leave  of  the  interesting 
stranger,  after  sharing  his  walk  under  a  row  of  trees, 
he  had  obtained  his  permission  to  drink  tea  with  him 
tftat  day. 

This  was  the  origin  of  the  introduction  of  Cowpex 
to  the  family  of  thp  Rev.  Morlcy  Unwin,  consisting  of- 
bimsclf,  his  wife,  the  son  already  named,  and  a  daugh 


» 


£4  SKETCH  OF  THE 

ter  an  event,  whbhf  when  vie'wed  in  connexion  with 
liis  remaining  years,  will  scarcely  yield,  in  impc^rtanee, 
to  any  feature  of  his  life.  Concerning  these  engagiag 
persona,  whoso  general  habits  of  life,  and  ea|)eciaMy 
whose  piety  rendered  them  the  yery  as^ociatei  tlvit 
Cowper  wanted,  he  thus  ej^resses  himself  in  a  letter, 
written  two  months  afler,  to  one  of  his  earliest  and 
warmest  friends  ;*  <'  Now  I  know  them,  I  wonder  that 
1  liked  Huntingdon  so  well  before  I  knew  them,  and  am 
apt  to  think  I  should  find  every  place  disagreeable  that 
had  not  an  Unwin  belonging  to  it" 

The  house  which  Mr.  Unwin  inhabited  was  a  large 
and  convenient  dwelling  in  the  High-street  in  which 
he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  receiving  a  few  domestick 
pupils  to  prepare  them  for  the  University.  At  the  di- 
vision of  the  October  Term,  one  of  these  students  be- 
ing called  to  Cambridge,  it  was  proposed  that  the  soli- 
tary lodging  which  Cowper  occupied  should  be  exchang- 
ed for  the.pospession  of  the  vacant  place.  On  the  llth 
ef  November,  therefore,  in  the  same  year,  he  com- 
menced his  residence  in  tMs  agreeable  fiunily.  But 
the  calamitous!  death  of  Mr.  Unwin,  by  a  fall  from  his 
horse,  as  he  was  going  to  his  church  on  a  Sunds^  mom- 
iug,  the  July  twelvemonth  following,  proved  the  signal 
of  a  further  removal  to  Cowper,  who,  by  a  series  of 
providential  incidents,  was  Condacted  with  the  family 
of  his  deceased  friend  to  the  town  of  Olney,  in  Buck- 
inghamshire, on  the  14th  of  October  1767.  The  in- 
strument whom  it  pleased  Grod  principally  to  employ 
^in  bringing  about  this  important  event,  was  the  Rev. 
John  Newton,  then  curate  of  that  parish,  and  after- 
wards rector  of  St.  Mary  Woolnoth  in  London :  a  most 
exemplary  divine,  indefatigable  in  the  discharge  of  his 
ministerial  duties ;  in  which,  so  far  as  was  consisfeint 
\Y\h  the  province  of  a  layman,  it  became  the  hsppi- 
pess  of  Cowper  to  strengthen  his  hands. 
•Joseph  Hill,  Esq. 


LIFE  OF  COWPER.  25 

Great  was  the  value  which  Cowp*er  set  on  Iho  friend' 
Ehip  and  intercourse  which  for  some  yeais  ho  had  the 
privilege  of  enjoying  with  the  estimable  author  of  Car- 
diphonia.  This  appears  by  the  following  passage  in  one 
of  his  letters  to  that  venerable  pastor  ;  '^  The  honour 
of  your  preface,  prefixed  to  my  poems,  wifl  be  on  my 
side  ;  for  surely  to  be  known  as  the  friend  of  a  much 
favoured  minister  of  God*8  word,  is  a  more  illustrions 
distinction  in  reality  than  to  have  the  friendship  of 
any  poet  in  the  worjd  to  boast  of.**  A  correspondent 
testimony  of  the  estimation  in  which  our  poet  was  held 
by  his  friend  Mr.  Newton  is  clearly  deducible  from 
the  introductory  words  of  the  preceding  sentence ; 
and  is  abundantly  furnished  in  the  preface  itself. 

A  very  interesting  part  of  the  connexion  thus  hap- 
pily established  between  Mr.  Cowper  and  Mr.  Newton, 
was  afterwards  brought  to  light  in  the  publication  of 
the  Olney  Hymns,  which  was  intended  as  a  •monument 
of  the  endeared  and  joint  labours  of  these  .exemplary 
christians.  To  this  collection  Mr.  Cowper  contributed 
sixty-eight  compositions.  • 

From  the  commencement  of  his  residence  at  Olney 
till  January,  1773,  a  period  of  five  years  and  a  quarter, 
it  does  not  appear  that  there  was  any  material  inter- 
ruption either  of  the  health  or  religious  comfort  of  this 
excellent  man.  His  feelings,  however,  must  have  re- 
ceived a  severe  shock  in  February,  1770,  when  he  was 
twice  summoned  to  Cambridge  by  the  illness  of  his  be 
loved  brother,  which  terminated  fatally  on  the  20th  of 
the  following  month.  How  far  this  afflictive  event 
might  conduce  to  such  a  melancholy  catastr&phe,  it  is 
impossible  to  judge  ;  but  certain  it  is,  that  at  this  period 
a  renewed  attack  of  hi'j  former  h3rpochondriaeal  com* 
plaint  took  place.  It  is  remarkable  tiiat  the  prevailing 
distortion  of  his  ^idicted  imagination  became  then  not 
only  inconsistent  with  the  dictates  of  right  reason,  but 
was  entirely  at  variance  with  every  distinguishing 
p.haracteristick  of  that  roligion  whieh  had  so  long  prov 

Vol.  m.  a  • 


m  SKETCH  OF  THE 

ed  the  incitement  Ax>  hit  useful  labours,  and  the  source 
of  his  mental  consolations.  Indeed,  so  powerful  and 
■o  singular  was  the  effect  produced  on  his  mind  by  the 
influence  of  the  malady,  that  while  for  many  subse- 
quent years  it  admitted  of  his  exhibiting  the  most  mas- 
terly and  delightful  display  of  poetical,  epistolary,  and 
coifVersational.  ability,  on  the  greatest  variety  of  sub- 
jects, it  constrained  him  from  that  period,  both  in  his 
conversation  and  letters,  studiously  to  abstain  from 
every  allusion  of  a  religious  nature.  Tet  no  one  could 
doubt  that  the  hand  and  heart  from  which,  even  under 
so  mysterious  a  dispensation,  such  exquisite  descrip- 
tions,of  sacred  truth  and  feeling  afterwards  proceeded; 
must  have  been  long  and  faithfully  devoted  to  his  God 
and  Father.  The  testimonies  of  his  real  piety  were 
manifested  to  others,  when  least  apparent  to  himself 
But  where  it  pleased  God  to  throw  a  veil  over  the  men- 
tal and  spiritual  consistency  of  this  excellent  and 
afflicted  man,  it  would  ill  become  us  rudely  to  invade 
the  divine  prerogative  by  attempting  to  withdraw  it. 

Under  the  grievpus  visitation  above-mentioned,  Mrs. 
Unwin,  whom  he  had  professed  to  love  as  a  mother, 
was  as  a  guardian  angel  to. this  interesting  sufferer. 
Day  and  night  she  watched  over  him.  Inestimable 
likewise  was  the  friendship  of  Mr.  Newton :  "  Next  to 
the  duties  of  my  ministry/'  said  that  venerable  pastor, 
in  a  letter  to  the  author  of  this  memoir,  more  than 
twenty  years  afterwards,  "  it  was  the  business  of  my 
life  to  attend  him." 

For  more  than  a  twelvemonth  subsequent  to  this  at- 
tack, Cowper  seems  to  have  been  totally  overwhelmed 
by  the  vehemence  of  his  disorder.  But  iii  March,  1774, 
he  was  so  far  enabled  to  struggle  with  it,  as  to  seek 
amusement  in  the  taming  his  three  hares,  and  in  the 
construction  of  boxes  for  them  to  dwell  in.  From  me- 
chanical amusements  he  proceeded  to  epistolary  em- 
ployment, a  specimen  of  which,  addressed  to  his  friend 
Mr.  Unwin  who  Jjad  been  some  years  settled  at  Stock, 


LIFE  OF  COWPER.  27 

in  Ks80X;  iu  the  summer  of  1778,  shows  that  he  had, 
in  a  groat  measure,  recovered  his  admirable  faculties. 
.  In  1779  ho  accompanied  Mrs.  Unwin  in  a  post-chaise 
to  view  the  gardens  of  Gayhurst ;  an  excursion  of 
which  he  informs  her  son  in  a  playful  letter. 

In  the  autumn  of  this  year  we  find  him  reading  the 
Biography  of  Johnson,  and,  with  the  exception  of  What 
^o  terms  his  "  unmerciful  treatment  of  Milton,"  ex- 
pressing himself  "  well  entertained**  with  it. 

One  of  his  earliest  amitsements,  in  1780,  was  the  com- 
position of  the  beautiful  fable  of  <^  The  Nightingale 
and  the  Glow-worm ;"  after  which  he  betook  himself 
to  the  drawing  of  landscapes  :  an  employment  of  which 
he  grew  passionately  fond,  though  he  had  never  been 
instructed  in  the  art.  This  attachment  to  the  pencil 
was  particularly  seasonable,  as  in  the  midst  of  it  he 
lost  his  friend  Mr.  Newton,  who  was  called  to  the 
charge  of  St.  Mary  Woolnoth,  in  London.  With  a 
'provident  ctfre,  however,  for  his  future  welfare,  this 
'excellent  man  obtained  his  permission  to  introduce  to 
him  the  Rev.  William  Bull,  of  Newport  Paghell,  who 
from  that  time  regularly  visited  him  once  a  fortnight: 
and  whom  Cowper  afterwards  described  to  his  friend 
Unwin,  as  '^  a  man  of  letters  and  of  genius,  master  of  a 
fine  imagination,  or  rather  not  master  of  it ;"  who 
could  be  "  lively  without  levity,  and  pensive  without 
dejection."  As  the  year  advanced,  Hume's  History, 
and  the  Biographm  Britanhica  engaged  his  attention, 
though  the  amusements  of  the  garden  were  his  chief 
resource,  and  had  banished  drawing  altogether.  These, 
with  the  frequent  exercise  of  his  epistolary  talent,  and 
the  occasional  production  of  a  minor  piece  of  poetry, 
in  the  composition  of  which  the  entertainment  of  him- 
self and  his  friends  was  his  only  aim,  led  him  to  the 
important  month  of  December,  in  this  year,  when  he 
was  to  sit  down  with  the  secret  intention  of  writing 
for  the  publick  ;  an  intention,  however,  which  liis  ex- 
tremo  humility  took  care  to  couple  in,  his  mind  with  '. 


28  SKETCH  OF  THE 

this  proviso,  that  a  bookseller  could  he  found  wdo 

would  run  the  risk  of  publishing  his  productions. 

Between  that  time  and  March,  1781,  the  four  first  of 
his  larger  poems  wpre  completed ;  namely,  Table  Talk, 
The  Progress  of  Errour,  Truth,  and  Expostulation 
These,  together  with  the  small  pieces  contained  in  the 
earliest  edition  qf  that  volume,  were  sent  to  the  press 
m  the  following  May  :  Mr.  Johnson,  of  St.  Paul> 
Church-yard,  who  had  been  recommended  to  the  poet 
by  Mr.  Newton,  having,  as  he  informed  his  friend  at 
Stock,  ^*  heroically  set  all  peradventures  at  defiance,** 
as  to  the  expense  of  printing,  *^  and  taken  the  whole 
charge  upon  himself.'* 

The  operation  of  the  press,  however,  had  scarcely 
commenced,  when  it  was  suggested  to  the  author,  that 
the  season  of  publication  being  so  far  elapsed,  it  would 
be  adviseable  to  postpone  the  appearance  of  his  book 
till  the  ensuing  winter.  This  delay  was  productive  of 
two  advantages ;  it  enabled  him  to  correct  tiie  press 
himself,  and  nearly  to  double  the  quantity  of  the  pro- 
iected  volume  ;  to  which,  by  the  24th  of  Juno,  he  had 
added  the  poem  of  Hope  ;  by  the  12th  of  July,  that 
of  Charity,  and  by  the  19th  of  October,  those  of  Con- 
versation and  Retirement. 

Whilst  the  poet  was  occupied  in  the  extension  of  hit 
worky  there  arrived  at  tJie  neighbouring  village  of  Clif- 
ton, a  lady  who  was,  ui  due  time,  to  make  a  most 
agreeable  addition  to^ his  society,  and  to  whom  the  pub* 
Uck  were  afterwards  indebted  for  the  first^uggestion  of 
the  Sofa,  as  they  were  also  to  Mrs.  Unwin  for  that  of 
the  Progress  of  Errour,  as  a  subject  for  Cowper's  muse. 
The  writer  alludes  to  Lady  Austen,  the  widow  of  Sir 
Robert  Austen,  Baronet,  whose  first  introduction  to  the 
poet  and  his  friends  occurred  in  the  summer  of  1781  i 
a  memorable  era  in  the  life  of  Cowper.  The  limits, 
however,  of  a  contracted  narrative,  such  as  this  pro- 
fbsses  to  "be,  will  only  allow  me  here  to  introduce  tlid 
.  brief  character  of  this  accomplished  lady,  which  Cow* 


THE  LIFE  OF  COWBER.  39 

per  despatched  to  his  friend  Unwin,  in  the  month  of 
August  of  this  year ;  namely,  ^'  that  she  had  seen  much 
of  the  world,  understood  it  well,  had  high  spirits,  a 
lively  fancy,  and  great  readiness  of  conversation." 
The  frequent  visits  of  this  pleasing  associate  to  her 
new  acquaintance  at  Olney,  gave  rioe  to  that  familiar 
epistle  in  rhyme,  which  the  poet  addressed  to  her  on 
her  return  to  London ;  it  is  dated  IMsember  17, 1781. 
The  last  month  of  that  year,  and  the  two  first  of  the 
year  following,  appear  to  have  been  employed  by 
^Cowper  in  correcting  the  press,  in  epistolary  corre- 
spondence, and  in  desultory  reading. 

The  year  1782  was  also  an  eventful  period  in  the  life 
of  the  poet,  Jja.  Marc^  his  first  volume  issued  from 
the  press.  In  the  summer  Mr.  Bull  engaged  him  in  the 
translation  of  Madam  Guion ;  and  by  means  of  a  small 
portable  printing-press,  given  him  by  Lady  Austen, 
who  had  returned  from  London  to  GlUton,  he  became 
a  printer  as  well  as  a  writer  of  poetry.  In  October  of 
the  same  year,  the  pleasant  poem  of  John  Gilpin  sprang 
np,  like  a  mushroom,  in  a  night.  The  story  on  which 
it  is  fi>unded,  having  been  related  to  him  by  L»dy 
Austen,  in  one  of  their  evening  parties,  it  was  veri- 
fied in  bed,  and  presented  to  her  the  next  morning  in 
the  shape  of  a  ballad.  Before  the  close  of  the  year 
Lady  Austen  was  settled  in  the  parscmage  at  Olney. 

The  consequence  of  this  latter  arrangement  was  a 
more  frequent  intercourse  between  the  lady  and  her 
friends.  Mr.  Unwin,  indeed,  is  Informed,  in  a  letter 
which  he  received  from  Mr.  Cowper  in  January,  1783,^ 
that  "  they  passed  their  days  alternately  at  each  other's 
chateau."  This  eventually  led  to  the  publication  of 
the  Task.  Lady  Austen,  as  an  admirer  of  Milton,  was 
fond  of  blank  verse.  She  wished  to  engage  Cowper  in 
that  species  of  composition.  For  a  long  time  he  de* 
clined  it.  The  lady,  however,  persevered,  till,  in  June 
or  July  of  the  same  year,  he  promised  to  write  if  ah* 
3  * 


aO  .SJCETGH  OF  THE 

would  li)r«i(Ni  the  aubpict.  "  O !"  she  replied,  "  yon 
can  never  be  in  want  of  a  sobject ;  you  can  write  upen 
any : — write  upon  this  sofa !"  "  The  poet,"  says  Mf. 
Hayley,  ^^  obeyed  her  command,  and  from  tho  lively 
repartee  of  familiar  conyersaticm  arose  a  poem  of  many 
thousand  verses,  vnexampled  perhaps  both  in  its  origin 
and  exoellesce  I  A  poem  of  such  infinite  variety,  that 
it  soems  to  include  every  subject,  and  every  style,  with- 
out any  disscmance  or  disorder ;  and  to  have  flowed 
without  e^^rt,  from  iiliapired  ^lanthropj,  eager  to 
impress  upon  the  hearts  of  all  readers  whatever  mc^ 
lead  them  most  happily  to  the  full  enjojonent  of  hv 
man  life,  and  to  the  final  attainment  of  heaven." 

The  progress  of  this  enchantia^  performance  appears 
to  have  been  thi^.  The  first  four  books,  and  part  of 
tSxe  fifib,  were  written  biy  the  22d  of  February,  1784 ; 
the  final  verses  of  the  poem  in  September  folkiwing; 
and  in  the  beginning  of  October  the  work  was  sent  to 
the  press.  The  arrangements  with  the  bookseller  were 
entrusted  to  Mr.  Unwin.  During  the  period  of  its 
production,  the  evenings  of  the  poet  appear  to  have 
been  constantly  devoted  io  a  course  of  diversifiecK  read- 
ing to  tiie  ladies.  Such  as  Hawkesworth's  Voyages, 
L'Estrange's  Josepku9>  Jehnson's  Prefaces,  The  The* 
ological  Miscellany,  Beattie^s  and  Blair's  Lecture^ 
the  **  Folio  of  four  Pages,"  and  the  Oircumnavigatiens 
Qf  Cook.  Thi9  may  in  some  measure  aeeonnt  for  the 
comparatively  slow  execution  of  the  latter  part  of  the 
work,  and  indeed  of  the  wholei,  wath  veference  to  the 
^  former  volume.  But  the  following  passage'  of  a  letter 
to  Mr,  Newton,  dated  October  30, 1784,  wSl  expUda 
it  more  fully.  "  I  mentioned  it  not  socmer,"  nameijT) 
that  ho  was  engaged  in  the  work,  ^^  because,  almost 
to  the  last,  I  was  doubtful  whether  I  should  ever  bring 
it  to  &  conclusion,  working  often  in  such  distress  of 
mmd,  as  while  it  spurred  mo  to  the  work^  at  the  same 
time  threatened  to  disqualify  rae  for  it  "    Afler  it  waf 


z.-:=^^ 


LIFE  Oh  COWPER.  31 

aent  to  the  press,  he  added  the  poem  of  Tirociniuni, 
two  hundred  lines  of  which  were  written  in  1782,  and 
the  remainder  in  October  «nd  November,  1784. 

On  the  SXst  of  this  month  he  began  his  traaslatioa 
of  Homer,  which,  together  with  the  completion  of  The 
Task,  proves  the  year  1784  to  have  been  an  active 
period  ia  the  life  of  Cowper.  A  no  less  striking  occur- 
rfipee  of  that  year  was  the  termination  of  his  inter- 
course wiCk  Lady  Austen.  For  a  just  statement  of 
that  sudden  event,  which,  while  it  by  no  moans  low- 
ered the  character  of  either  of  the  ladies,  exceedingly 
elevated  that  of  Cowper,  the  reader  m  referred  to  the 
biography  of  Hayley. 

The  year  1785  was  marked  by  the  publication  of  the 
secGid  volume  of  his  poems  in  June  or  July,  contain- 
ing The  Task,  Tirocinium,  The  Epistle  to  Joseph  Hill, 
Esq.  and  the  diverting  History  of  John  Gilpin ;  also, 
by  tlie  production  of  many  excellent  letters,  among 
which  those  to  liis  cousin,  lady  Hesketh,  who  had  late- 
ly returned  from  a  residence  ia  Italy,  and  renewed  hex 
oorre&pondence  with  him  on  the  appearance  of  hia 
second  volume,  are  peculiarly  interesting.  With  the 
exception  of  a  few  of  his  smaller  pieces,  his  poetical 
employment  this  year  was  confined  to  the  tr^nriatioo. 
of  Homer. 

The  same  may  be  said  of  the  succeeding  year,  which» 
however,  was  distinguished  by  tlvee  remarkable  oc- 
Qurrences :  the  arrival  of  lady  Hec^eth,  at  Olney,  in 
Jane  ;  Cowper's  removal  to  the  Lodge  in^^e  adjoining 
village  of  Weston  Underwood,  in  November ;  and  the 
deal^  of  Mr.  Uawin,  ia  the  same  month.  To  the  first 
()f  these  eventff  he  thus  alludes  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Hill , 
H.My  dear  cousin's  arrival  here,  as  it  could  not  fail  ta 
do,  made  us  happier  than  we  ever  were  at  Olney.  Her 
great  kindness  in  giving  us  her  company  is  a  cordial 
that  I  shall  feel  the  effect  of,  not  only  while  i^  is  here> 
hut  while  I  live ;"  to  the  second,  thu#,  in  a  letter  Mr 
the  same  friend,  '^  I  find  myself  hero  situated  exactly 


32  SKETCH  OF  THE 

to  my  mmd.  Weston  is  one  of  the  prettiest  viliages 
in  England,  and  the  walks  about  it,  at  all  seasons  of  the 
year,  delightful.  I  know  that  you  will  rejoice  with  me 
in  the  change  that  wo  have  made,  and  for  which  I  am 
altogether  indebted  to  lady  Hesketh  ;"  and  to  tbe  third, 
thus,  in  concluding  a  letter  to  that  l^dy,  "  So  farewell 
my  friend  Unwin  !  The  first  man  for  whom  I  conceiv- 
ed a  friendship  after  my  removal  from  St.  Alban's,  and 
for  whom  I  cannot  but  still  feel  a  friendship,  though  I 
shall  see  thee  with  these  eyes  no  more." 

Early  in  January,  1787,  he  was  attacked  with  a  ner- 
vous fever,  which  obliged  him  to  discontinue  his  poeti- 
cal eflforts  till  the  October  following.  A  few  days  after 
the  commencement  of  this  indisposition,  he  recebired  a 
visit  from  a  straBger,  which  he  thus  notices  in  a  letter 
to  lady  Hesketh :  "  A  young  gentleman  called  here 
yesterday,  who  came  nix  miles  out  of  his  way  to  see 
me.  He  was  on  a  journey  to  London  from  Glasgow, 
having  just  left  the  University  there.  He  came,  I  sup- 
pose, partly  to  satisfy  his  own  curiosity,  but  chie^y, 
as  it  seemed,  to  bring  me  the  thanks  of  some  of  the 
Scotch  Professors  for  my  two  volumes.  His  name  is 
Rose,  an  Englishman.  Your  spirits  being  good,  you 
will  derive  more  pleasure  from  this  incident  than  I  can 
at  present,  therefore  I  send  it."  This  interesting  and 
accomplished  character  was  afterwards  of  singular  use 
to  Cowper,  during  a  friendship  which  originated  in  the 
above  visit,  and  which  was  terminated  only  by  the 
death  of  the  poet.  As  an  early  instance  of  this  utility, 
and  that  with  reference  to  the  paramount  wants  of  the 
mind,  he  introduced  his  new  acquaintance  to  the  poiptry 
of  Burns,  with  which  he  was  so  much  pleased  as  to  read 
it  twice.  It  was  succeeded  in  the  office  of  relieving  his 
depressed  spirits  by  the  Latin  Argenis  of  Barclay ;  The 
Travels  of  Savary  into  Egypt ;  Memoirs  du  Baron  de 
Tott ;  Fenn's  Original  Letters  ;  The  Letters  of  Fre- 
derick of  Bohemia  j  Momoirs  Of  d'Henri  de  Lorraine. 
Due  de  Guise;  and  The  Letters  of  his  young  relative 


LIKE  OF  COWPER.  33 

3pencer  Madan,  to  Priestley.  In  allugion  to  UnA  inter- 
val  of  cessation  from  the  labours  of  tho  pen,  he  says  in 
a  letter  to  Mr.-  Rose,  "  When  I  cannot  walk,  I  read, 
and  read  perhaps  more  than  is  good  for  me.  But  I  can- 
not be  idle.  The  only  mercy  that  I  show  myself  in 
this  respect  is,  that  I  read  nothing  that  requires  much 
closeness  of  application."  Conversing,  however,  with 
men  and  things,  through  tho  medium  of  books,  was  not 
his  only  resource  in  this  season  of  illness.  He  had  an 
infinitely  better  medicine  of  this  kind,  in  the  society 
of  his  valuable  firiends  at  the  Hall,  and  the  many  pleas- 
ing  acquaintances  to  which  their  hospitality  introduc- 
ed him.  Indeed  the  kindness  of  Sir  John  and  lady 
Throckmorton,  always  a  cordial  to  the  spirits  of  Cow- 
per  from  the  time  he  knew  them,  was  "especially  such 
under  his  present  ciroumstanceg.  As  a  proof  of  its 
happy  influence  on  the  mind  of  the  poet,  he  was*  ena- 
bled in  the  autumn  to  resume  his  translation  of  Homer, 
which,  with  the  renewal  of  his  admirable  letters  to 
several  friends,  and  the  production  of  his  first  mortua- 
ry verses  fcur  the  clerk  of  Northampton,  comprised  all 
his  literary  performances  to  the  conclusion  of  the  year. 

In  1788  his  venerable  uncle,  Ashley  Cowper,  Esq. 
the  father  of  lady  Hesketh,  died  at  the  age  of  eighty- 
seven  ;  an  event  which  he  pathetically  alludes  to  in 
several  of  the  letters  of  this  period,  and  the  ill  effect 
of  which  on  his  spirits  was  happily  prevented  by  the 
suc-cessive  visits  at  the '  lodge  of  the  Rev.  Matthew 
Powley,  and  his  amiable  partner,  the  daughter  of  Mrs. 
Unwin  *,  his  old  friends  the  Newtous,  Mr.  Rose,  and 
lady  Hesketh. 

The  reappearance  at  the  Lodge  of  the  two  last  men- 
tioned visiters  is  recorded  in  his  letters  of  1769,  which 
was  also  devoted  to  Homer  and  the  muse. 

In  January,  1790,  the  writer  of  this  sketch,  who  had 
hitherto  enjoyed  no  personal  intercourse  with  his  rela- 
tive, but  for  wliom,  ten  years  after,  was  reserved  the 
melancholy  office  of  closing  his  eyes,  introduced  him- 


M  SKETCH  OF  THE 

self  to  the  poet  as  the  grandson  of  his  mother's  bro- 
ther, tlie  Rev.  Roger  Donne,  late  rector  of  CatfieH, 
in  Norfolk.  His  total  ignorance  of  what  had  be&Ileii 
thjft  branch  of  his  family,  during  the  twenty-sevca 
years  of  his  retirement  from  the  world,  wouM  of  itseh 
haye  secured  his  attention  to  a  visiter  so  circumstanc 
ed,  even  if  his  heart  had  been  a  stranger  to  the  hospita- 
ble virtues.  But  as  no  human  bosom  was  ever  mord 
onder  the  influence  of  those  blessed  qualities  than 
Cowpcr's,  the  reception  which  his  kinsman  met  with 
was  peculiarly  pleasing.  The  consequence  was  a  re- 
petition of  his  visit  in  the  same  year,  and  indeed  the 
passing  of  the  chief  of  his  fetcademical  recesses  at  the 
Lodge,  and  lus  clerical  ^leisure  afterwards,  till,  by  the 
appointment  of  Providence,  he  transplanted  this  inter- 
esting man  with  his  enfeebled  companion  into  Nor^ 
folk,  as  will  appear  in  the  sequel  of  these  pages. 

Perceiving  that  his  new  and  valuable  acquaintance 
dwelt  with  great  pleasure  on  the  memory  of  his  mother, 
the  kinsman  of  Cowper,  on  his  return  home,  was  espe- 
cially careful  to  despatch  to  him  her  pictinre,  as  a  pre- 
sent from  his  cousin,  Mrs.  Bodbam.  To  the  arrival  of  this 
portrait,  an  original  in  oils,  by  Heins,  he  th«s  adverts 
in  a  letter  to  that  lady,  dated  Febnwu-y  27, 1790 ;  «  The 
world  could  not  have  furnished  you  with  a  present  m 
acceptable  to  roe  as  the  jHcture  which  you  have  so 
kindly  sent  me.  I  received  it  the  night  before  last,  and 
viewed  it  with  a  trepidation  of  nerves  and  spirits  some- 
what akin  to  what  I  should  have  felt  had  the  dear  <Nrigi- 
nal  presented  herself  to  ifiy  embraces.  I  kissed  it,  and 
hung  it  where  it  is  the  last  object  that  I  6ee  at  night, 
and  of  course  the  first  on  which  I  open  my  eyes  in  the 
morning."  The  receipt  of  this  picture  gave  rise  to 
the  Monody  so  justly  a  favourite  with  the  public,  whstt 
it  appeared  in  the  later  editions  of  his  poems. 
On  the  25th  of  August,  in  this  year,  he  completed  his 
,  translation  of  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  of  Homer  inte 
blank  verse,  which  he  had  begun  on  the  21st  of  Noveni- 


LP'E  OF  COWPfiR.  .     ab 

•ber,  ITM.  Dumg  eight  months  of  this  time  U9  Wfts 
.hindered  by  indisposition,  so  that  he  was  occupied  in 
tlio  work,  on  the  whole,  five  years  and  one  mont^.  On 
the  8th  of  Septembfsr  the  writer  of  this  narratiye  had 
Uie  gratification  to  convey  it  to  St.  Paul's  Church-yaid, 
with  a  -view  to  its  consignment  to  the  press ;  during  its 
continuance  in  which,  the  translator  .gave  the  worlt  a 
second  revisal.  The  Iliad  was  dedicatod  to  his  young 
noble  relative,  earl  Co^firper ;  and  the  Odyssey  to  the 
iUustripus  lady  of  whom  he  thus  writes  to  his  kinsmaf 
of  Norfolk,  on  the  2Sth  of  November,  1790 :  f*  Wo  had 
«  visit  01^  Monday  from  one  of  the  ^rst  women  in  the 
world  ',  in  point  of  character,  I  mean,  and  accomplish 
.menjts,  the  dowager  lady  Spencer.  I  may  receive, 
perhaps,  some  honours  hereafler,  should  my  transla 
lion  speed  according  ^  my  wishes  and  the  pains  I 
.have  taken  with  it ;  but  shall  never  receive  any  that  I 
jhall  esteem  so  highly.  She  is  Indeed  worthy  to  whom 
I  should  dedicate  ;  and  may  but  my  Odyssey  prove  as 
wortliy  of  her,  I  shall  have  nothing  to  fear  firom  the 
critics."  Lady  Heskelh  also  paid  him  this  year  her 
.usual  visit,  which  extended  into  the  next. 

The  year  1791  was  marked  by  the  completion  of 
the  second  revisalof  his  Homer,  on  the  4th  of  March  -, 
and  by  the  return  of  the  last  proof-sheet  of  that  work 
to  the  publisher  on  the  l$th  of  June.  Also  by  the 
commencement  of  his  correspondence  witii  the  poet 
Hurdis  ;  the  suggestion  of  the  Four  Ages,  Infancy, 
Youtli,  Manhood,  and  Old  Age,  as  a  subject  for  his 
muse,  by  his  very  pleasing  and  well  informed  clerical 
neighbour,  Mr.  Buchanan  of  Ravenstone ;  and  the  sea- 
sonable visit  of  three  of  his  Norfolk  relations,  Mrs. 
Balls,  Miss  Johnson,  and  her  brother>  in  the  vacant 
period  between  the  conclusion  of  his  employment  U9 
translator  of  Homer,  and  the  beginning  of  a  new  litera- 
ry engagement,  which  he  thus  announces  to  Mr.  Rose, 
on  the  14tlj  of  September  of  this  year  :  "  A  Milton,  ^ 
that  is  to  rival,  and,  if  possible,  to  exceed  in  splendour 


36   •  SKETCH  OF  THE 

Boj&tSVa  Sinkspeare,  is  in  contemplation,  and  I  am 
in  the  editor's  office,  Foseli  is  the  painter.  My  business 
will  be  to  select  notes  from  others,  and  to  write  origi« 
nal  notes ;  to  translate  the  Latin  and  Italian  poems, 
and  to  grive  a  correct  text.*'  He  addressed  himself  to 
the  work  with  diligence,  and  by  the  end  of  the  year 
had  advanced  te  the  Epitaphinm  Damonis. 

In  the  early  part  of  1792  he  had  to  encounter  the  loss 
of  his  agreeable  associates  at  Weston-hall,  the  death  of 
Sir  Robert  Throckmorton  baring  accasioned  their  re- 
moval to  a  seat  in  Oxfordshire ;  an  event  which  he 
tenderly  allades  to  in  concluding  a  letter  to  the  poet 
Hurdia  His  engagement  with  Milton,  the  society  of 
lady  Hesketh,  and  of  his  friend  Rose,  but  more  espe- 
cially the  consideration  of  who  was  to  succeed  his  old 
neighbonrs  in  the  hospitable  mansion,  namely,  the  next 
brother  of  the  Baronet,*  who  was  on  the  eve  of  mar- 
riage with  Catharina,  the  favourite  of  the  poet,  sup- 
ported his  spirits  at  this  trjring  period. 

The  next  remaricable  feature  in  the  history  of  Cow- 
per,  is  the  commenceraent  of  his  correspondence  with 
Mr.  Hayley.  The  limits*  of  this  narotive  wiU  not  ad- 
mit of  a  detail  of  the  singular  circumstances  which 
gave  rise  to  it,  but  it  was  scarcely  entered  upon,  before, 
in  writing  to  lady  Hesketh,  Cowper  says  of  his  new 
epistolary  acquaintance,  ^  I  account  him  the  cliief  ac- 
'  quisitioh  that  my  own  verse  has  ever  procured  me."  In 
the  following  May,  a  personal  interview  took  place  be- 
tween the  two  poets,  thus  noticed  by  Cowper  in  writ- 
ing to  his  kinsman  of  Norfc^ :  '*  Mr.  Hayley  is  here 
on  a  visit.  We  have  formed  a  fViendship  that  1  trust 
will  last  for  life."  A  few  day^  after,  Mrs.  Unwin  was 
struck  with  the  palsy,  which  deprived  her  of  the  pow- 
er of  articulation,  and  the  use  of  her  right  hand  and 
arm.  Under  the  pressure  of  this  domestick  affliction, 
he  thus  writes  to  Lady  Hesketh  ;  **  It  has  happened 

•  George  Courlenay  Throckmonon,  Esq.  now  Mr.  Courtis- 
Day. 


lifl:  of  cowper.  •     37 

well,  tliat  of  all  men  liring,  the  man  most  qualified  to 
assist  and  comfort  me,  is  here,  thou|rh  till  within  thsae 
-few  days  I  never  saw  him,  and  a  few  weeks  since  had 
no  expectation  that  I  ever  shoukl.  Tou  have  alrtadj 
fruessed  that  I  mean  Hayley  !'* 

Early  in  June,  Mr.  Hayley  left  the  Lodge,  h«iring 
obtained  a  promise  from  its  inhabitftnta,  Ibat  if  k  Bhoold 
please  God  to  continue  the  convalesceat  symptoiDs  ol 
Mrs.  Unwin,  which  had  begun  to  be  etzhibited,  they 
would  visit  Eartham  in  the  course  of  the  ■omoMr. 
The  new  guest  of  Cowper  was  sncoeeded  by  the  wri- 
ter of  this  sketch,  who,  withont  coneultiiig  the  peet, 
ventured  to  introduce  to  him  Abboti  the  Painter,  one 
'  of  the  most  successful  artists  of  that  period^  in  ■ecor- 
mg  to  a  portrait  the  likeness  of  its  ori|riiud.  In  idln- 
sion  to  the  fidelity  of  the  copy  he  waf  then  pfodociiqr, 
Cowper  playfully  says,  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Hayley, 

Abbott  is  painting  me  so  true, 
'  That  (trust  me)  you  would  mart, 
AikI  hardly  kaow  at  Ihe  first  view, 
If  I  vn^hsrefov  iheve. 

In  the  beginning  of  August,  the^  party  aot  out  on  their 
way  to  Eartham,  where  they  arrhrad  on  the  evening 
of  tlie  third  day,  and  where  th«  most  cordial  and  af- 
fectionate reception  that  it  was  poisftle  fbr  gveshi  to 
^  meet  wi^,  awaited  theto  from  the  owner  of  that  ^' 
gant  vHla.  This  had  a  happy  effect  upon  the  sphrits 
of  Cowper,  which  had  been  in  eome  measure  depre«« 
ed  by  the  romantick  nio^light  soraery  of  the  Sussex 
hills,  over  which  he  had  just  passed,  and  whose  hold 
and  striking  outline  so  ht  surpassing  any  images  of 
the  kind  with  which  the  last  thirty  years  had  present- 
ed him,  .lUrried  back  his  recollection  to  those  times 
when  he  had  scarcely  known  what  trouble  was. 

In  this  delightful  retreat  he  remained  till  about  the 
middle  of  the  following  month,  his  kind  host  Aomg 

Vol.  III.  4 


38  SKETCH  OF  THE 

every  thing  that  even  the  purest  fraternal  friendship 
could  dictate  for  the  comfort  of  the  poet  and  his  in- 
firm companion ;  who  were  both  benefited  by  his  be< 
nevolent  exertions,  the  one  considerably  in  spirits, 
and  the  other  somewhat  in  health.  During  the  viat 
of  Cowper  to  Eartham,  a  fine  head  of  him  in  crayon 
was  executed  by  Romney,  who  joined  the  party,  as 
did  also  that  ingenious  norelist  and  pleasing  poetess 
Charlotte  Smith,  the  "friendly  CarwardLac,**  of 
Earl's  Colne  Priory,  and  the  author  of  "  The  Village 
Curate,"  soon  after  the  arrival  of  the  guests  from 
Weston.  Their  society  was  also  enlivened  by  the  en- 
dearing attentions  of  the  amiable  and  accomplished 
youth,  fat  whose  future  enjoyment,  after  a  life  of  pro- 
fessional labour,  the  scenery  of  Eartham  had  been  so 
fbn<IHy  embellished  by  an  affectionate  parent,  but  to 
whom  Providence  allotted  an  early  grave  in  the  very 
same  year  and  month  in  which  the  illustrious  visiter 
of  his  beloved  father  was  consigned  to  the  tomb. 

The  literary  engagements  of  Cowper  while  he  re- 
sided at  Eartham,  are  thus  noticed  by  hia  faithful  bi- 
ographer :  "  The  morning  hours,  that  we  could  bestow 
upon  books,  were  chiefly  devoted  to  a  complete  re- 
visal  and  correction  of  all  the  translations  which  my 
fHend  had  finished,  from  the  Latin  and  Italian  poetry 
of  Milton :  and  we  generally  amused  ourselves  after 
dinner  in  forming  together  a  rapid  metrical  version 
of  Andrdini's  Adamo  But  the  constant  care  which 
the  delicate  health  of  Mrs.  Unwin  required,  rendered 
it  impossible  for  us  to  be  very  assiduous  in  study."    . 

The  termination  of  their  visit  to  Mr.  Hayley  be- 
ing arrived,  a  journey  of  four  day|i  restored  the  party 
to  the  lodge  at  Weston ;  but  not  tlie  poet  to  a  re- 
> sumption  of  his  Miltonick  employment.  In  addition 
to  tlie  abovo-mentioned  obstacle,  the  habi«.  of  study 
had  so  totally  left  him,  that  instead  of  beginning;  his 
dissertations  on  the  Paradise  Lost,  as  he  had  intend- 
ed, he  thus  writes  to  this  kinsman^  who  had  returned 


juiFP  OF  COWPER.  3p 

Into  Norfolk :  "  I  proceed  exactly  as  when  you  were 
here — a  letter  now  and  then  before  breakfast,  and  the 
rfeat  of  my  time  all  holy-day :  if  holy-day  it  may  be 
called  that  is  spent  chiefly  in  moping  and  musing,  and 
^forecasting  the  fashion  of  uncertain  evils. ^  " 

On  the  4th  of  March,  1793,  he  says  in  a  letter  to  his 
friend,  the  'Reverend  Walter  Bagot ;  "  While  tlie  win- 
ter lasted  I  was  miserable  with  a  fever  on  my  spirits ; 
whon  the  spring  began  to  approach,  I  was  seized  with' 
an  inflammation  in  my  eyes ;  and  ever  since  I  liave  been 
tble  to  use  them,  have  been  employed  in  giving  more 
last  touches  to  Homer,  who  is  on  the  point  of  going 
to  the  press  again."  At  the  request  of  his  worthy  book- 
seller, he  added  explanatory  notes  to  his  revision  ;  in 
allusion  to  which  ho  writes  in  May  to  his  friend  Roso. 
"  I  breakfast  every  morning  op  se^cen  or  eight  pages  of 
the  Greek  commentators.  For  so  much  am  I  obliged 
to  read  in  order  to  select  perhaps  three  or  four  short 
notes  fi)r  the  readers  of  my  translation."  He  says  to 
Mr.  Hayley,  in  the  same  month,  <*  I  rise  at  six  every 
morning,  and  fag  till  near,  eleven,  when  I  breakfast. — 
I  cannot  spare  a  moment  for  eating  in  the  early  part 
of  the  iporning,  having  no  other  time  to  study."  The 
truth  is  that  his  grate^l  affectionate  jspirit  devoted  all 
the  rest  of  the  day,  fVom  breakfast,  to  tlie  helpless 
state  of  bis  aiAictod  companion  ;  of  whose  similar  at- 
tentions to  his  own  necessities  he  had  had  such  abun- 
dant experience.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  an  ar-  • 
rangement  of  this  sort  was  highly  prejudicial  to  the 
beahh  of  Cowper,  and  that  it  hastened  the  approach 
of  the  last  calamitous  attack  with  which  this  interest- 
ing sufferer  was  yet  to  be  visited.  For  the  present, 
however,  he  was^u^orted  under  it ;  writing  pleasantly 
thus  to  Mr.  Hayley  in  October;  "On  Tuesday,  we 
expect  company — ^Mr.  Rose,  and  liawrence  the  painter. 
Tet  cnce  more  my  patience  is  to  be  exercised,  and 
once  more  I  con  made  to  wish  that  my  face  had  been 


49  SKETCH  OF  THE 

moveable y  to  put  on  and  take  off  at  ;  learore,  so  as  ta 

be  portable  in  a  band-box,  and  sent  to  tl|e  artist.** 

In  the  following  month  Mr.  Hajrley  paid  his  second 
vbit  to  Weston,  where  he  found  the  writer  of  this  nar- 
rative and  Mr.  Rose.  **  The  latter/'  says  the  biogra- 
pher of  Cowper,  "  came  recently  from  the  seat  of 
lord  Spencer,  in  Northamptonshire,  and  commissioned 
by  that  accomplished  nobleman  to  invite  Cowper  and 
b^  guests  to  Althorpe,  where  my  friend  Gibbon  was 
to  make  a  visit  of  considerable  continuance.  All  the 
gnests  of  Cowper  now  recommended  it  to  him  very 
strongly  to  renttire  on  this  little  excursion,  to  a  house 
whose  master  he  most  cordially  respected,  and  whose 
library  alone  might  be  regarded  as  a  magnet  of  very 
powerful  attraction  to  every  elegant  scholar.  I  wish- 
ed," continues  Mr.  Hayley, "  to  see  Cowper  and  Gib- 
boa  personally  acquainted,  oecause  I  perfectly  knew 
the  real  benevolence  of  both ;  for  widely  as  they  might 
differ  on  one  important  article,  they  were  both  able 
and  worthy  to  appreciate  and  enjoy  the  extraordhuury 
mental  lowers  of  each  other.  But  the  constitutional 
shyness  of  the  poet  conspires  with  the  present  infirm 
state  of  Mrs.  Unwin  to  prevent  their  mee^og.  He 
sent  Mr.  Rose  and  me  to  make  his  apology  for  declin- 
ing so  honourable  an  invitation." 

In  a  few  days  from  this  time  the  guests  of  Cowper 
left  him,  and  before  the  end  of  the  year  he  thus  writes 
*  to  his  friend  of  Eartham :  <'  It  is  a  great  relief  to  me 
that  my  Miltoniok  labours  are  suspended.  I  am  now 
busied  in  transcribing  the  alterations  of  Homer,  havmg 
fmislied  the  whole  revisal.  I  must  then  write  a  new 
preface,  which  done,  I  shall  endeavour  immediately  to 
descant  oi\  *  The  Four  Ages.'  " 

Instead,  however,  of  recording  the  prosecution  of 
this  poem,  as  the  work  of  the  beginning  of  the  follow 
ing  year,  it  becomes  the  jminful  duty  of  the  author  o^ 
this  memoir  to  exhibit  the  truly  excellent  and  pitiaUs 


LIFE  OF  COWPER.  41 

•nbject  of  it  aa  very  differently  employed,  and  as  coni4 
raencing  his  descent  into  those  depths  of  affliction  from 
which  his  spirit  was  only  to  emerge  by  departing'  from 
the  earth.  Writing  to  Mr.  Rose,  in  January,  1794,  he 
says,  "  I  have  just  ability  enough  to  transcribe,  which 
is  all  that  I  can  do  at  present :  God  knows  that  I  write 
at  this  moment  under  the  pressure  of  sadness  not  to  be 
described.*'  It  was  a  happy  circumstance  that  lady 
Hesketh  had  arrived  at  Weston  a  few  weeks  previous 
to  this  calamitous  attack,  the  increasing  infirmities  of 
Cowper*s  aged  companion,  Mrs.  Unwin,  having  reduc- 
ed her  to  a  state,  of  second  childhood.  Towards  the 
end  of  February,  tJie  eare  of  attending  to  his  afflicted 
relative  was  for  a  short  time  engaged  in  by  the  writer 
of  these  pages,  who  had  scarcely  returned  to  his  pro- 
fessional duties,  when,  in  consequence  of  an  affection- 
OLte  summons  from  Cowper*s  valuable  neighbour,  and 
highly  respected  friend,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Greatheed  of 
Newport  Pagnel,  Mr.  Hayley  repaired  to  the  Lodge. 
During  the  continuance  of  his  visit,  which  was  extend- 
ed to  several  weeks,  all  expedients  were  resorted  to, 
which  the  most  tender  ingenuity  could  devise,  to  pro- 
mote the  object  which  had  given  rise  to  iC.  But  though 
the  efforts  of  this  cordial  and  tried  friend  to  restore  the 
poet  to  any  measure  of  cheerfulness,  were  altogether 
ineffectual,  yet,  as  a  reward  for  his  humanity,  it  pleas- 
ed God  to  refresh  his  benevolent  spirit,  at  this  time, 
by  the  success  of  a  plan  for  the  benefit  of  Cowper,  the 
idea  of  which  had  originated  with  himself.  The  cir- 
cumstance alluded  to  is  thus  related  by  the  biographer 
of  the  poet :  <<  It  was  on  the  23d  of  AprU,  17d4,  in 
one  of  those  melancholy  mornings,  when  his  compas- 
sionate friend  ladj  Hesketh  and  myself  were  watching 
together  over  this  dejected  sufferer,  that  a  letter  from 
Lord  Spencer  arrived  at  Weston,  to  announce  the  in-' 
tended  grant  of  such  a  pension  from  his  majesty  to 
Cowper,  as  would  ensure  an  honourable  competence 
for  tho  rendue  of  his  life.  This  iatelligenre  produced 
4* 


A  SKETCH  OF  THfc 

fai  the  fHen^f  of  the  poet  very  lively  emotions  of  de- 
fight,  yet  hiended  with  p&in  almost  as  powerfbl ;  for' 
it  was  puttfbl,  in  no  trifling  degree,  tc  refieet,  that' 
these  desirable  smiles  of  good  fortune  could  not  im- 
part even  a  fliint  gltnunering  of  joy  to'  the  dejected 
mvalid. 

'*  His  friends,  however,  had  the  animating  hope,  that 
a  day  wonld  arrive  when  they  might' see  him  receive 
with  a  cheerfbl  and  joyous  gr&titnde,  this  royal  recom- 
pense  for  merit  nniversally  acknowledged.  They  knew 
that  v^hen  he  recovered  his  snqiended  fkoulties,  he 
must  be  particularly  pleaeved,  to  ^nd  himself  chiefly 
indebted  for  his  good  ibrtune  to  the  active  benevolence 
f^  that  nobleman,  who,  though  not  perisonally  ac- 
quainted with  Cowper,  stood,  of  alV  his  noble  friends, 
the  highest  in  his  esteem.**  *'  He  was  unhappily  disa- 
bled," continueb  his  biographer,  ^  from  feeling  the  fa- ' 
Tour  he  received,  but  an  annuity  of  three  hundr^  a  year 
was  graciously  secured  to  him,  and'  rendered  payable 
to  his  fViend  Mr.  Rose,  as  the  trustee  of  Cowper." 

Another  extract  from  Mr.  Hayley  v^iH  advance  the 
merftoir  to  the  close  of  the  poeVs  residence  in  Buck- 
inghamshitie.  '**  From  the  time  when  I  left  my  unhappy 
friend  at  Weston,  in  the  spring  of  the  year  17^4,  he 
remained  there,  under  the  tender  vigilance  bf  his  affec- 
tionate relation,  lady  Hesketh,  tilt  the  latter  end  of 
July,  1795 ; — a  long  season  of  ihh  darkest  depression  * 
in  which  the  best  medicAl  advice,  and  the  influence  of 
time,  appeared  equally  unable  to  lighten  that  afi!ictive 
burthen  which  pressed  incessantly  on  his  spirits." 

A  few  weeks  prior  to  ^e  last  mentioned  period  the 
task  of  superintending  this  interesting  soflSsrer  was 
Again  shared  with  Lady  Hesketh  by  ber  former  associ- 
ate from*  Norfolk  ;  to  whom.it  fbrcib  y  occurred,  one 
'day,  as  he  reflected  on  the  inefficac^  of  the  lur  and . 
scenery  of  Weston  in  promoting  the  return  of  healA 
to  his  revered  relation,  that  perhaps  a  summer's  resi- 
dence by  the  sea-side  might  restore  him  to  the  en- 


UFE  OF  CX)WPER.  49 

i^jJiient  of  tliat  invaluable  bksf  ing.  Lady  Hesketh^ 
to  whom  lie  coinmunicate4  this  idea,  being  of  the  same 
opinion,  arrangements  were  apeedily  made  for  hit 
conducting  the  two  venerable  invalids  firom  Backing-, 
hamshire  into  Norfolk,  whom,  afW  a  residenee  there 
of  a  few  months,  he  hoped  to  reconduct  to  the  Lodge 
.n  amended  health  and  qnnto. 

It  was  a  singulaHy  happy  circomstance  that  in  thia 
projected  departure  firom  his  beloved  Weston,  neither 
Cowper,  nor  Mrs.  Unwin,  nor  either  of  their  friends, 
thoUgiit  of  any  thing  further  than  a  temporary  absence* 
For  hod  the  measure  been  suggested  under  the  idea  of 
a  final  separation  from  that  endeared  residence,  which 
was  eventually  found  to  have  been  the  intention  of 
Providence,  the  anguish  of  Cowper  in  passing  for  the 
last  time  over  the  threshold  of  his  &.vouri|e  retire- 
ment, and  in  taking  leave  of  Lady  Hesketh  for  ever, 
might  not  only  have  proved  fatal  tp  the  delicate  health 
of  his  affeotionata  relative,  but  have  so  extended  itself 
to  the  breast  of^ia  conductor,  as  to  have  deprived  him 
of  the  necessary  fortitude  for  sustaining  so  long  a  jour- 
ney with  so  helplese  a  charge.  Nothing  of  the  kind, 
however,  having  entered  into  the  calculation  of  either 
party,  both  the  setting  out  for  Norfolk,  on  Tuesday 
the  ^th  of  July,  1795,  and.  the  subiequent  travelling 
thither  of  three  days,  were  unattetidod  with  any  pecu- 
liarly distressing  eircumtftances. 

As  it  was  highly  important  to  g«tard  against  the  ef- 
fect of  noise  and  tnmuH  on  the  diattered  nerves  of  the 
desponding  traveller,  .care  was  taken  that  a  relay  of 
horses  should  be  ready  on  the  Airiu  of  the  towns  of 
Bedford  and  Cambridge,  by  which  means  he  passed 
through  those  places  without  stopping.  On  the  even- 
ing of  the  first  dhy,  the  quiet  village  of  St.  Neots,  near 
Blaton,  afforded  as  conv'enient  a  resting-place  for  the 
party  as  could  have  been  desired  ;  and  the  peaceful 
moonlight  scenery  of  the  spot,  as  Cowper  walked  with 
his  kinsman  up  and  down  the   church-yard,  had  so 


-"t* 


44  SKETCH  OF  THR 

favourable  an  effect  on  his  spirits,  that  he  conversed 
with  him,  with  mach  composure,  on  the  subject  of 
Thomson's  Seasons,  and  the  circumstances  under 
which  they  were  probably  written. 

This  gleam  of  cheerfulness  with  which  it  pleased  God 
to  visit  the  afflicted  poet,  at  the  commencement  of  his 
journey,  though  nothing  that  may  at  all  compared 
with  it  was  ever  again  exhilHted  in  his  conversation,  is 
yet  a  subject  of  grateful  remembrance  to  the  writer  of 
this  sketch ;  for  though  it  vanished,  from  the  breast  of 
Cowper,  like  the  dew  of  the  morning,  it  preserved  tlio 
sunshine  of  hope  in  his  own  mind,  as  to  the  final  reco> 
very  of  his  revered  relative  ;  and  that  cheering  hope 
never  forsook  him  till  the  object  of  his  incessant  care 
was  sinking  into  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death. 

At  the  Klose  of  the  second  day's  journey,  the  poct- 
and  his  aged  companion  found  in  the  solitary  situation 
of  Barton  Mills  a  convenient  place  to  rest  at ;  and  tlie 
third  day  brought  them  to  North  Tuddenham,  in  Nor 
folk.  Here,  by  the  kindness  of  the  reverend  Leonard 
Sfaelfqrd,  they  were  comfortably  accommodated  with 
an  untenanted  Parsonage  House  in  which  they  were 
received  by  Miss  Johnson  and  Miss  Perowne ;  the  re- 
sidence of  their  conductor,  in  thamarket-place  ofJSast 
Dereham,  being  thought  unfavourable  to  the  tender 
spirits  of  Cowper.  Of  the  latter  of  these  ladies,  Mr. 
Hayley  says,  with  equal  truth  and  felicity  of  expres- 
sion, *^  Miss  Perowne  is  one  of  those  excellent  beings 
whom  nature  seems  to  have  formed  expressly  for  the 
purpose  of  alleviating  the  sufferings  of  the  afflicted ; 
tenderly  vigilant  in  providing  for  the  wants  of  sickness, 
and  resolutely  firm  in  administering  such  relief  as  the 
most  intelligent  compassion  can  /supply.  Cowper 
speedily  observed  and  felt  the  invaluable  virtues  of  bis 
new  attendant ;  and  during  the  last  years  of  his  life  he 
honoured  her  so  far  as  to  prefer  her  personal  assistance 
to  that  of  every  individual  ai  ound  him." 

As  the  season  of  the  year  xvas  particularly  faVou^ 


LIFE  OF  COWPER.  45 

Bl|le  for  walking,  the  poet  was  prevailed  on,  by  his 
kinsman,  to  make  frequent  excursions  of  this  sort  in 
the  retired  vicinity  of  Tuddenham  Parsonage  ;  one  of 
wnich  he  extended  to  the  house  of  his  cousin,  Mrs. 
Bodham,  at  Mattis-hall.  The  sight  of  his  own  i>or- 
trait,  painted  by  Abbott,  in  one  of  the  apartments  of 
that  residence,  awakening  in  his  mind  a  recollection 
of  the  comparatively  happy  moments  in  which  he  sai 
for  the  picture,  extorted  from  him  a  passionately  ex- 
pressed wish,  that  similar  sensations  might  yet  return. 

It  being  tbndly  hoped  by  his  kinsman,  that  not  only  . 
this  wish,  but  many  more  of  the  same  kind,  and  those 
most  sanguine,  conceived  by  himself,  might  be  realized 
by  a  removal  to  the  aea-sido,  he  conducted  tlie  two  in- 
valids on  the  19th  of  August,  1795,  to  the  village  of 
Mundsley,  on  the  Norfolk  coast.  They  had  been  there 
but  a  short  time,  when  his  companion  perceived  that 
there  was  something  inexpressibly  soothing  to  the  spirit 
of  Cowper  in  the  monotonous  sound  of  the  breakers. 
This  induced  him  to  coafine  the  walks  of  the  poet,, 
whom  dejection  precluded  from  the  exercise  of  all 
choice  whatever,  or  at  least  the  expression  of  it,  almost , 
wholly  to  the  sands,  which  at  Mundsley  are  remarkably 
firm  and  level ;  till  anr  incident  occurred  wliich  intro- 
duced them  to  the  inland,  but  sti^  pleasing  walks  of 
that  vicinity.  The  circumstance  alluded  to  is  stated  in 
the  following  letter,  which,  after  &  long  suspension  of 
epistolary  employment,  the  poet  addressed  to  Mr 
Buchanan.  "  It  sliows,"  as  Mr.  Hayley  obs^^es,  '^  the 
severity  of  his  depression,  but  shows  also  that  faint 
gleams  of  pleasure  could  occasionally  break  through 
the  settled  darkness  of  melancholy." 

It  is  introduced  with  a  quotation  from  the  Lycida« 
of  Milton. 

"  To  interpose  a  little  ease. 
Let  my  frail  thoughts  dally  wiUi  false  surmise.'' 

"  1  will  forget,  for  a  moment,  that  to  whomsoever  I 
may  address  myself,  a  letter  from  me  can  no  otherwise 


46  SKETCH  OF  THfi 

be  welcome y  than  as  a  curiosity.  To  you,  Sir,  I  ad 
dress  this  ;  urged  to  it  by  extreme  penury  of  employ- 
ment, and  tlio  desire  I  feel  to  loam  something  of  what 
is  doing,  and  has  been  done  at  Weston  (my  beloved 
Weston !)  since  I  left  it. 

"  The  coldness  of  these  blasts,  even  in  the  hottest 
days,  has  been  such,  that,  added  to  the  irritation  of  the 
salt  spray,  with  which  they  are  always  charged,  they 
have  occasioned  me  an  inflammation  in  the  eyelids, 
which  threatened  a  few  days  since  to  confine  me  entire- 
4y ;  but  by  absenting  myself  as  much  as  possible  from 
the  beach,  and  guarding  my  face  with  an  umbrella,  that 
inconvenience  is  in  some  degree  abated.  My  cham- 
ber commands  a  very  near  view  of  the  ocean,  and  the 
ships  at  high  water  approach  the  coast  so  closely,  that 
a  man  furnished  with  better  eyes  than  mine  might,  I 
doubt  not,  discern  the  sailors  from  the  window.  No 
situation,  at  least  when  the  weather  is  clear  and  bright, 
can  be  pleasanter ;  which  you  will  easily  credit,  when 
I  add  that  it  imparts  something  a  little  resembling  plea- 
sure even  to  me. — Gratify  me  with  news  from  Weston ! 
If  Mr.  Gregson,  and  your  neighbours  the  Conrtenays, 
are  there,  mention  me  to  them  in  such  terms  as  you 
see  good.  Tell  me  if  my  poor  birds  are  living:  I 
never  see  the  herbs  I  used  to  give  them  without  a  re- 
collection of  them,  and  sometimes  am  ready  to  gather 
them,  forgetting  that  I  am  not  at  home.  Pardon  tliis 
intrusion. 

"  Mrs.  Uawin  continues  much  as  usual 
"  Mundsleijj  Sept.  5,  1795". 

The  hopes  of  the  kinsman  of  Cowper  were  greatly 
elevated  by  tlie  unexpected  despatch  of  the  above  epis- 
tle, which  he  hailed  as  the  forerunner  of  many  more, 
each  contributing  something  to  the  alleviation  of  his" me- 
lanclioly.  With  the  exception,  however,  of  two,  here- 
after raentioned,  it  was  the  only  letter  which  the  over- 
whelming influence  of  his  disorder  woult  suflTer  Mm  to 
Write  in  his  latter  years. 


a 


Liri:  OF  COWPER.  47 

The  effect  of  air  and  exercise  on  tbe  dejected  poet 
being  by  no  means  such  as  his  friends  had  hoped, 
change  of  scene  was  resorted  to  as  the  next  expedient. 
About  six  miles  to  the  south  of  Mundsley,  and  also  oa 
the  coast,  is  a  village  called  Happisburgh,  or  Hasboro*, 
which,  in  tho  days  of  his  youth,  Cowper  had  visited 
from  Catfield,'  the  residence  of  his  mother's  brother. 
An  excursion  therefore  to  this  place  was  projected,  and 
happily  accomplished  by  sea ;  a  mode  of  conveyance 
which  had  at  least  novelty  to  recommend  It ;  but  a  gale 
of  wind  having  sprang  up,  soon  after  his  arrival  ihBWO, 
tiie  return  by  water  was  unexpectedly  precluded,  and 
ho  was  under  the  necessity  of  effecting  it  on  foot 
through  the  neighbouring  villages.  To  the  agreeable 
surprise  of  his  conductor,  this  very  ccmsiderable  walk 
was  performed  with  scarcely  any  ftitigue  to  tho  invalid 
This  incident  led  to  a  welcome  discovery .  namely, 
that,  shattered  as  the  person  of  Cowper  was,  and  re- 
duced even  to  a  consumptive  thinness,  it  yet  retained 
a  considerable  portion  of  muscular  strength.  This  in- 
duced an  extensipn  of  those  daily  walks  in  which  the 
vicinity  of  Munddey  was  gradually  explored.  It  led 
likewise  to  a  journey  of  fifty  miles  in  a  post-chaise,  by 
way  of  Cromer,  Holt,  and  Fakenham,  the  object  of 
which  was  to  take  a  view  of  Dunham  Lodge,  a  vacant 
seat  on  a  high  ground,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Swaff- 
ham.  Cowper  observed  of  this  mansion,  which  was  re- 
eently  buik  by  Edward  Pftrry,  Esq.  that  it  was  rather 
too  spacious  for  his  requirements;  but  as  he  did  not 
seem  unwilling  to  inhabit  it,  hia  companion,  who  con* 
ceived  it  to  be  a  far  more  eligible  situation  for  his  in- 
teresting charge  than  his  own  house  in  the  town  of 
Dereham,  was  induced  to  become  the  tenant  of  it  at  a 
subsequent  period.  They  proceeded  to  the  last  men- 
tioned place,  which  is  about  eight  miles  east  of  Dun- 
ham Lodge,  the  samo  evening ;  and  the  next  day,  a 
journey  of  thirty  miles  throutrli  Reej>ham,  Aylshain 
and  North  Walshnm,.retjini€vd  ihcm  ssifo  to  Muudslut 


48  SKETCH  OF  THE 

Here  they  reiaained  till  the  7th  of  October,  the  hetlta» 
if  not  ^e  ■pirits  of  Cowper,  being  beueiUed  by  it, 
tfaoagk  the  infirmttiss  of  Mrs.  Unwin  continued  the 
•ame.  On  that  liay,  the  party  removed  to  Dereham, 
aad  again,  in  the  course  of  the  month,  to  Dunham 
Ledge,  which ^vas  now  become  their  settled  reafddnee. 

As  the  sMsos  advanced,  the  amusenient  of  walking 
being  rendered  in^ractieahle,  and  his  spirits  being  by 
BO  aaeaws  soffietentiy  recovered  to  admit  of  his  resuoi- 
ing  ekher  his  pen  or  hie  books,  the  only  resource  which 
was  left  to  the  poet,  was  to  listen  inoesssatiy  ta  the 
reading  of  his  companion.  The  kind  of  hooka  thai 
appealed  most,  and  indeed  solely  to  attraot  hiBi»-were 
wofka  of  fiction ;  and  so  happy  was  Ibe  inflnenee  of 
these  in  riveting  his  attention,  and  i^stracting  kim,  of 
eoone,  from  the  contemplatton  of  his  miseries,  that  he 
.  ffiscovered  a  peculiar  sattsfiietion  when  a  proAvetion 
-  of  fancy  of  more  than  ordinary  Jength  was  introduoed 
hf  his  Junsman.  This  was  nd  sooner  pefceived,  than 
he  was  famished  with  the  volominoiis  pa|^  «f  Bi- 
ohardaen,  to  which  he  listened  with  the  greater  inter- 
est, AS  he  had  been  personally  aeqoaiated  with  that  in- 
geniocii  writer. 

At  this  time  the  tender  spirit  of  Cowper  c^ong  ez- 
eeedingly  to  those  about  him,  and  seemed  to  be  hauit- 
ed  with  a  ooatinoal  dread  that  they  would  leave  him 
alone  in  his  sohtary  mansion.  Bumdaj,  therefore^  WM 
a  day  of  more  ibajt  ordiaiurf  appveh^nsion  to  him ;  afl 
the  furthest  of  his  kinsman's  «h««ches  hvo^  liOmin 
miles  from  the  Lodge,  hs  was  neceissarily  «hse»l  ^mmg 
the  wliole  of  the  aabbath.  On  these  oooasiQiis^  it  was 
the  constant  practice  of  dbe  dejected  poet  to  listMi  fre- 
quently on  the  steps  of  the  hall-door  for  the  barking  of 
dogs  at  a  farm-house,  which,  in  the  stillness  of  the 
night,  though  at  nearly  the  distance  of  two  miles,  in- 
variably aunouneed  the  approach  of  his  c(Hnpanion 

To  remove  the  inconvenience  of  these  lengthen^ 
absences,  an  inquiry  was  set  on  foot  by  the  attendant 


LIFE  OF  COWPER.  49 

•f  Cowper  for  a  bouse  eqnallj  retired  with  Dunham 
lioUge,  but  nearer  the  scene  of  hia  ministerial  duties 
The  seareh,  however)  proving;  fruitless,  he  venUned  to 
•(msalt  his  beloved  charge,  as  to  how  far  he  could  to 
lerate  the  Dereham  residence.  To  his  agreeable  sur- 
prmOf  he  fonad  that  be  not  only  preferred  it  to  his 
present  i^ituation,  but,  if  the  questioa  had  been  put  to 
him  in  the  first  instaace)  would  never  have  wished  any 
other.  It  was  agreed^  therefore,  that  as  the  ensuing 
■ummer  v^as  to  be  spent  at  Mundsley,  they  should  re- 
anain  at  Dualiam  Lodge  till  that  period,  and  return 
from  the  sea  to  Dereham. 

In  the  inean  time,  the  employment  of  reading,  and, 
as  eHen  as  the  weather  permitted,  excursions  on  foot, 
or  in  an  open  carri«ge>  amused  the  sufferer  till  the 
eouHnenoement  ef  1796;  in  the  month  of  April  of 
which  «year  Mrs.  Unwin  received  a  visit  i^rom  her 
daughter  and  sen-in-law,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Powley.  The 
tender,  and  even  filiid  attrition  which  the  compassion- 
.  fttfr  invalid  had  never  ceased  to  exercise  towards  his 
-aged  and  infirm  eompanien,  was  now  cdiared  by  her 
fJSsetaonate  relatives :  to  whom  it  could  not  but  be  a 
gratifying  spectacle  to  see  their  venerable  parent  so 
assiduously  watched  over  by  Gowper,  even  in  his  dark- 
est periods  of  depression.  The  visit  of  these  exem- 
plary persons  was  productive  ^  also  of  advantage  to 
their  friends,  as  the  salutary  eustora  of  reading  a  chap- 
ter in  the  Bible  to  her  mother,  every  morning  before 
«be  Tose,  was  eoatinued  by  the  writer  of  this  memoir, 
who»  ae  the  poet  always  vbited  the  chamber  of  his  poor 
old  firiend,  the  moment  he  had  finnhed  his  breakfaft| 
took  care  to  read  the  chapter  at  thai  time. 

It  was  a  pleasing  discovery,  which  the  companion  of 
Cowper  bad  now  made,  that  immersed  as  he  was  in  the 
ileptb  of  defipondenee,  aH  the  biHows  of  which  had 
gene  over  his  soul,  he  could  yet  listen  with  composuxe 
to  the  voice  of  inspuration,  of  which  he  had  been  con- 
ceived to  be  unwilling  to  hear  evwi  the  name.     Being 

Vol.  III.  5 


50  SKETCH  OF  THE 

enooaraged  by  the  resalt  of  the  above  experiment,  the 
conductor  of  the  devotions  of  this  retired  family  Ten- 
tared,  in  the  course  of  a  few  days,  to  let  the  membeii 
of  it  meet  for  prayers  in  the  room  where  Cowper  was, 
instead  of  assembling  in  another  apartment,  as  they 
hitherto  hod  done,  under  the  Influence,  as  it  proved,  of 
a  misconception,  with  regard  to  his  ability  to  attend 
the  service.  On  the  first  occurrence  of  this  new  ar- 
rangement, of  which  no  intimation  had  boen  previoosly 
given  him,  he  was  preparing  to  leave  the  room,  but 
was  prevailed  on  to  resume  his  seat,  by  a  word  of  sooth- 
ing and  whispered  entreaty. 

The  arrival  of  Wakefield's  edition  of  Pope^s  Homer, 
at  Dunham  Lodge,  in  June,  1796,  was  productive  of 
happy  consequences  to  the  invalid,  by  supplying  an 
occupation  to  his  harassed  mind,  which  absorbed  it 
still  more  than  thai  of  listening  to  the  works  before 
mentioned.  These  fabrications  of  fancy,  however, 
were  not  laid  aside,  but  varied  with  conceptions  of  a 
much  higher  order ;  even  the  sublime  flights  of  the  il- 
lustrious Greek,  to  which  the  attention  of  his  translap 
tor  was  again  awakened,  in  the  following  rather  singor 
lar  manner: 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  poet,  <m  leaving  Mrs.  Un- 
winds apartment  in  the  mornmg,  to  take  a  few  turns 
by  himself  in  a  large  unfrequented  room,  which  he 
jad  to  pass  in  his  way  back  to  the  parlour.  His  com- 
panion, therefore,  having  observed  that  the  notes  of 
the  ingenious  Mr.  Wakefield  were  not  without  a  re- 
ference to  the  la^iours  of  Cowper,  took  care  to  place 
.the  eleven  volumes  of  that  editor's  recent  publicatioA 
in  a  conspicuous  part  of  this  room ;  having  previously 
hinted,  in  the  hearing  of  his  friend,  that  there  was  in 
them  an  occasional  comparison  of  l^ope  with  Cowper. 
To  his  agreeable  surprise,  he  discovered,  the  next  day, 
that  the  latter  had  not  only  found  tliese  notes,  but  had 
corrected  his  translation  at  the  suggestion  of  somo  of 
tliem      From  the  moment  that  this  reviving  interest  it 


LIFE  OF  COWPER.  51 

his  version  of  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  was  perceived  to 
exist  in  the  breast  of  Cowper,  it  was  vigilantly  oho 
rishod  by  the  utmost  efforts  of  his  attendant,  till,  in  the 
ensuing  August,  he  had  decidedly  engaged  in  a  revisal 
of  the  whole  work,  aiid  was  daily  producing  almost 
sixty  now  lines. 

Much  hope  had  been  entertained  by  the  friends  of 
Cowper,  that  this  voluntary  resumption  of  poetical 
employment  would  have  led  to  his  speedy  and  perfect 
recovery :  but  the  removal  of  the  family  in  Septem- 
ber from  Dunham  Lodge,  which  they  now  finally  quit 
ted,  to  their  temporary  residence  at  Mundsloy,  st 
completely  dissipated  his  habitji  of  attention,  tlmt  a 
twelvemonth  elapsed  before  he  could  be  again  prevail- 
ed on  to  return  to  his  revision.  In  the  mean  time  the 
air  and  walks  of  that  favourite  village,  both  marine 
and  inland,  were  fully  tried,  till  towards  the  end  of 
October,  when  no  apparent  benefit  having  been  deriv- 
ed to  the  dejected  poet,  by  his  visit  to.  the  coast,  the 
invalids  and  their  attendants  retired  to  Dereham. 

Cowper  was  scarcely  settled  in  this  new  habitation, 
(in  point  of  seclusion,  the  reverse  of  Dunham  Lodge,) 
when  his  friends  had  the  satisfaction  to  see  that  the 
scenery  of  a  town  was  by  no  means  distressing  to  his 
tender  spirit.  Now,  to  employ  the  language  of  his 
Sussex  friend,  "  tlie  long  and  exemplary  life  of  Mrs. 
Unwin  was  drawing  towards  a  close.  The  powers  of 
nature  were  gradually  exhausted,  and  on  the  1 7th  of 
December  she  ended  a  troubled  existence,  distinguish, 
ed  by  a  scblime  spirit  of  piety  and  friendship,  which 
shone  through  long  periods  of  calamity,  and  continued 
to  glimmer  through  the  distressful  twilight  of  her  de- 
clining faculties.  The  precise  moment  of  her  de- 
parture was  so  tranquil,  that  it  was  only  marked  by 
the  cessation  of  lier  breath,  as  the  clock  was  striking 
one  in  the  afternoon." 

Gentle,  however,  as  were  the  approaches  of  the  last 
messenger,  in  the  case  of  this  eminent  servant  of  \Jod, 


63  SKETCH  OF  THE 

and  little  as,  under  the  ceaseless  pressure  of  his  own 
•uiferiugs  he  had  hitherto  appeared  to  notice  them, 
they  had  yet  been  perceived  by  Cowper ;  for,  as  t 
faithful  servant  of  his  dying  friend  and  himself  were 
opening  the  window  of  his  chamber  on  the  morning  of 
the  day  of  her  decease,  he  said  to  her,  in  a  tone  of 
voice  at  once  plaintive,  and  full  of  anxiety  as  to  what 
might  be  the  situation  of  his  aged  companion,  ^  SaUy, 
is  there  life  above-stairs  ?" 

From  a  dread  of  the  effect  of  such  a  scene  upon  his 
mind,  the  first  object  of  the  kinsman  of  Cowper,  who 
had  attended  him  to  the  bedside  of  his  departing"  friend, 
about  half  an  hour  before  her  death,  was  to  reconduct 
his  pitiable  charge  to  the  apartment  below,  and  in- 
stantly to  commence  reading.  This  expedient,  so  of 
ten  resorted  to,  with  a  view  to  composing  the  spirit  of 
Cowper,  and  generally  speaking,  with  much  success, 
was  happily  e^cacious  in  the  present  instance.  For 
though  the  reader  had  scarcely  advanced  a  few  pages 
before  he  was  beckoned  out  of  the  room  to  be  informed 
of  the  death  of  Mrs.  Unwin,  he  returned  to  it  some 
moments  after,  without  being  questioned  as  to  why  he 
had  left  it.  Apprehending  from  this  circumstance, 
and  from  a  rapid  observation  of  his  countenance  with 
every  turn  of  which  he  had  long  been  familiar,  that 
the  mind  of  his  beloved  relative  was  perhaps  in  as  fit  a 
state  for  the  reception  of  tlie  melancholy  tidings,  as, 
under  the  pressure  of  his  calamity,  it  could  be,  .the 
writer  of  this  memoir  resolved  to  reveal  them.  As  he 
was  sitting  down  therefore  to  the  book,  aad  turning 
over  the  leaves  to  resume  his  reading,  he  observed  to 
the  poet,  with  as  much  cheerfulness  and  tender  con- 
cern as  he  was  able  to  associate  in  the  same  tone  of 
voice,  that  his  poor  old  friend  had  breathed  her  last. 

This  intelligence  was  received  by  Cowper,  though 
not  entirely  withdut  emotion,  yet  with  such  as  was 
compatible  with  his  being  read  to  by  his  kinsman,  who 
had  soon  the  satisfiiotion  of  seeing  his  interesting  pa* 


LIFE  OF  COWPKR.  53 

tient  ^8  composed  as  in  the  time  of  Mrs.  Unwnrtf  life. 

Bat  the  favourable  issue  of  two  distressing  periods 
was  still  to  be  provided  for ;  his  viewing  the  corpse, 
and  its  subsequent  removal  for  interment.  To  meet 
the  first  of  these  difficulties,  it  was  judged  expedient, 
that  the  kinsman  of  Cowper  should  attend  him  to  the 
chamber  of  his  departed  friend,  in  the  dusk  of  the 
evening,  when  only  an  indistinct  view  of  the  body 
could  be  obtained ;  and  to  preclude  liis  suspicion  of 
the  other^  the  funeral  was  appointed  to  take  place  by 
torch-light.  It  appeared,  however,  that  there  was  no 
necessity  for  the  latter  precaution,  as,  after  looking  at 
the  corpse  for  a  few  moments,  under  the  circumstance! 
above  mentioned,  and  starting  suddenly  away,  with  a 
vehement  but  unfinished  sentence  of  passionate  sorrow, 
he  not  only  named  it  no  more,  but  never  even  spoke 
of  Mrs.  Unwin. 

The  funeral  was  attended  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Powley, 
who  had  been  summoned  from  Yorkshire  within  the 
few  last  days  of  their  parent's  life,  but  had  not  arrived 
till  she  had  ceased  to  breathe  :  also  by  the  vnriter  of 
this  sketch,  and  some  members  of  his  family.  She 
was  buried  on  the  twenty-third  of  December,  in  the 
north  aisle  of  the  church  of  East  Dereham. 

The  commencement  of  the  yoar  1797  in  no  respect 
differed  from  that  of  the  preceding  years  of  his  illness, 
his  extreme  dejection  still  continumg,  and  the  only  al- 
leviation it  was  capable  of  receiving  being  still  the 
listening  to  works  of  fiction.  As  the  spring  advanced, 
however,  he  Was  persuaded  to  resume  his  usual  walks, 
a  measure  to  which  the  situation  of  the  house  at  East 
Dereham  happily  presented  no  obstacles,  as  though  jt 
fronted  the  market-place,  which  w)is  also  the  turnpike 
road,  it  was  contiguous  to  the  fields  on  its  opposite 
side.  This  was  equally  convenient  foK  his  airings  in 
an  open  carriage,  which,  from  the  happy  effect  of  a 
course  of  ass's  milk  upon  his  bodily  health,  begun  on 
the  twenty-first  of  June  in  this  year,  ho  was  enabled  to 


64'  SKKTCIJ  OF  THK 

bear,  for  a  few  weeks,  before  breakfast.  -  This  was, 
undoubtedly,  the  period  of  his  lost  deplorable  aflic- 
tlon,  when  the  person  of  Cowper  made  the  nc^arest  ap* 
proaches  to  the  appearance  it  had  exhibited  before  liii 
illnesa.  His  countenance,  from  having  been  extreme- 
ly tliin,  and  of  a  yellowish  hue,  had  recovered  much 
of  its  former  fulness  and  ruddy  complexion ;  his  hmbs 
were  also  less  emaciated,  and  his  posture  more  erect : 
but  the  oppression  on  liis  spirits  remained  the  same. 
Under  these  circumstances,  it  was  thought  .advisable 
to  omit  the  visit  to  Mundsley  this  year,  and  to  take 
the  utmost  advantage  of  the  rides  about  Dereham. 

With  such  recreations,  and  the  never-failing  one  of 
reading,  the  summer  of  1797  was  brought  to  a  close  ; 
when,  dreading  the  effect  of  the  cessation  of  bodily 
exercise  upon  the  mind  of  Cowper  during  a  long  win- 
ter, his  kinsman  resolved,  if  it  were  possible,  to  rein- 
state him  in  the  revisal  ef  his  Homer.  One  morning, 
therefore,  after  breakfast,  in  the  month  of  September, 
he  placed  the  commentatcurs  on  the  table,  one  by  one  ; 
namely,  Villoisson,  Barnes,  and  Clarke,  opening  them 
all,  together  with  the  poet's  translation,  at  the  place 
where  hehadleft.offa  twelvemonth  before,  but  talk- 
ing with  him,  as  he  paced  the  room,  upon  a  very  dif- 
ferent subject,  namely,  the  impossibility  of  the 
things  befalling  him  which  his  imagination  had  repre- 
sented ;  when,  as  hifi  companion  had  wished,  he  said 
to  him,  <<  And  are  you  sure  that  I  shall  be  here  till  the 
book  you  are  reading  is  finished  t"  ^'  Quite  sure," 
repUed  his  kinsman,  '^  and  that  you  will  be  here  to 
complete  the  revisal  of  your  Homer^"  pointing  to  thu 
bocdLS,  "  if  you  will  resimio  it  to-day."  As  ho  re- 
peated these  words  he  left  the  room,  rejoicing  in  the 
well-known  token  of  their  having  sunk  into  the  poet's 
mind,  namely,  his  seating  himself  on  the  sofa,  taking 
up  one  of  the  books,  and  saying  in  a  low  and  plaintive 
roice, "  I  may  as  well  do  this,  for  I  can  do  nothing  else.* 

It  was  a  subject  of  much  gratitude  to  the  friends  of 


LIFE  OF  COWPER.  '  55 

this  amiable  and  most  interesting  sufferer,  that  a  mer- 
eiful  Providence  should  again  appoint  him  the  employ- 
ment alluded  to,  as,  more  than  any  thing  else,  it  di- 
Tertod  his  mind  from  a  contemplation  of  its  miseries, 
and  seemed  to  extend  his  breathing,  which  was  at 
father  times  short,  to  a  depth  of  respiration  more  com- 
patible with  ^aso.  They  had  the  happiness  to  see  him 
perfectly  settled  to  the  work,  and  persevering  in  it, 
feeble  and  dejected  as  he  was,  till  he  brought  it  to  a 
prosperous  close. 

In  the  meantime,  the  visit  to  the  coast  was  repeat- 
ed ;  not  indeed,  as  in  former  cases,  for  a  continuance 
there  of  some  months,  but  with  an  intention  of  renew- 
ing it  several  times  in  the  same  season.  The  series 
of  excursions  to  the  marine  village  of  Mundsley  com- 
menced in  the  summer  of  1798,  and  was  varied  by  a 
return  to  Dereham  eight  or  ten  times,*aAer  a  resi- 
dence of  a  week  by  the  sea-side.  On  one  of  these  oc- 
casions he  visited  the  larger  of  the  two  Lighthouses  at 
Happisburgh ;  the  extensive  prospect  from  which  em- 
bracing a  country  formerly  not  unknown  to  him,  hi« 
ccMnpanion  conceived  might  be  a  subject  of  interesting 
contemplation.  Such  in  some  measure  it  proved,  but 
the  attention  of  Cowper  seemed  more  attracted  by 
the  apparatus  of  the  building,  lamps  and  reflectors 
having  been  recently  substituted  for  a  fire  of  coals,  in 
describing  the  passage  of  that  intricate  coast.  It  was 
hoped  that  this  change  of  place,  accompanied  also  by 
a  diversity  of  objects,  might  operate  happily  on  the 
mind  of  Cowper ;  and  to  a  certain  extent,  it  did,  by 
producing  at  times,  a  mitigation  of  his  melancholy 
In  this,  however,  there  is  no  doubt  that  Homer  had  a 
considerable  share,  as  he  was  the  constant  companion 
of  the  poet  on  the  coast.  The  Bfiscellaneous  Works 
of  Gibbon  also,  and  the  Pursuits  of  Literature,  which 
he  permitted  his  kinsman  to  read  to  him,  contributed 
to  the  amusement  of  this  period. 

Two  occurrences  worthy  of  record,  as  tostifymg  the 


56  SKETCH  Ol  THE 

regard  borne  to  Cowpcr  by  his  former  acquaintanco 
took  place  this  year :  namely,  the  visit  in  July,  of  the 
dowager  lady  Spencer,  for  whom  he  had  always  enter 
tained  the  most  affectionate  respect,  and  that  of  hia 
highly  esteemed  friend,  Sir  John  Throckmorton,  in 
December.  But  though  the'former  had  come  many 
miles  out  of  her  way  to  see  him,  and  the  latter  had 
taken  a  journey  from  Lbrd  Petre's  expressly  for  that 
purpose,  the  pressure  of  his  malady  would  scarcely 
allow  him  to  speak  to  either  of  these  friends,  or  to  ex* 
press  a  sense  of  their  kind  solicitude. 

On  a  Friday  evening,  the  eighth  of  March,  1799  ^  he 
completed  the  revisal  of  his  Homer,  and  the  next 
morning  entered  upon  the  now  preface,  wliich,  how- 
ever, he  concluded  on  the  following  day,  so  that  his 
kinsman  beheld  him  once  more  without  employment. 

But  the  powers  of  his  astonishing  mind  were  yet  to 
bo  exercised,  and  that  on  a  subject  altogether  of  his 
own  devising.  For  though  on  the  eleventh  of  March, 
his  attendant  laid  before  -him  the  introductory  frag- 
ment  of  his  formerly  projected  poem  of  Tlic  Four  Ages, 
he  merely  corrected  a  few  lines,  adding  two  or  three 
more,  and  declining  to  proceed,  with  this  remark, 
"  that  it  was  too  great  a  work  for  him  to  attempt  in 
his  present  situation. " 

In  the  same  manner,  several  literary  projects, 
though  of  easier  accomplishment,  which  his  compa- 
nions suggested  to  him  at  supper,  were  objected  io  by 
the  poet,  who  at  length  replied  that  he  had  just  thought 
of  six  Latin  verses,  and  if  he  could  compose  any  thing, 
it  must  be  in  pursuing  that  corapositibn. 

His  desk  being  opened  the  next  morning,  and  all 
things  duly  arranged  for  the  purpose,  liis  kinsman  had 
the  satisfaction,  on  his  return  to  the  room,  to  see  a 
poem,  entitled  Monies  GlacialeSj  commenced,  and  that 
some  ver?es  were  added  to  the  six  before  mentioned 
On  his  attentively  considering  the  title,  it  occurred  to  I 
bis  companion  that,  during  the  reside  ice  of  the  poet^. 


LIFE  OF  COWPER.  57 

At  Dunham  Lodge,  the  circumstance  which  he  had  be- 
gun  to  versify,  had  been  read  to  him  in  oike  of  the  Nor- 
wich papers,  though  without  its  appearing  to  engage 
his  notice.  At  the  request  of  Miss  Perowne,  he  trans- 
lated this  poem  into  English  verse  on  the  l^h  of  th« 
same  month. 

If  the  friends  of  Cowper  were^not  a  little  surprised, 
that  his  memory  should  hare  furnished  him  with  a 
subject  for  his  poetical  talent,  under  circumstances  so  . 
unlikely  to  favour  its  exertion,  his  producing  The  Cast- 
away the  next  day,  which  was  founded  on  an  incident 
recorded  in  Anson's  Voyage,  a  book  which  he  had  not 
looked  into  for  almost  twenty  years,  astonished  them 
still  more.  It  was,  however,  the  last  original  poem 
produced  by  the  pen  of  Cowper.  In  August  he  trans- 
lated it  into  Latin  verse. 

On  the  same  day  that  he  began  and  finished  The 
Cast-away f  the  Latin  poems  of  his  favourite  Vincent 
Bourne,  which  he  had  appeared  not  unwilling  to  enter 
upon  next,  were  laid  before  him,  and  he  translated 
"  The  ThraeianJ*  But  as  his  subsequent  productions, 
with  their  respective  dates,  are  duly  specified  in  the 
following  pages,  after  observing  that  the  poet  went  in 
October  with  himself  and  Miss  Perowne  to  survey  a 
much  more  commodious  house  in  East  Dereham,  than 
th^  family  had  hitherto  occupied  there,  and  to  which 
they  removed  in  December,  the  wnter  of  this  memior 
will  draw  it  to  a  close. 

Cowper  had  not  passed  many  weeks  in  this  new  habi« 
tation,  when  the  symptoms  of  weakness,  which  he  had 
for  some  time  axhibited,  assumed  a  dropsical  appear- 
ance in  the  ancles  and  feet.  Tj  arrest  the  progress 
of  this  new  malady,  a  physician  was  called  in,  on  the 
31$t  of  January,  1800,  by  the  aid  of  whose  prescrip- 
tions, which  he  was  witli  difHculty.  persuaded  to  follow, 
and  the  daily  exercise  of  a  post-chaise,  the  disorder 
yf9.9  so  far  checked  as  not  to  occasion  a^y  furtlier 
alarm 


58  SKETCH  OF  THE 

Towards  the  end  of  January  his  attention  had  been 
recalled  to  Homer,  by  a  request  from  his  friend  of  Sus- 
■ex,  who  wished  him  to  new-model  a  passage  in  his 
TraiiAlati<«  of  the  Illiad,  where  mention  is  made  of 
tho  very  ancient  sculpture  in  which  Dicdalus  had  re- 
presented the  Cretan  dance  for  Ariadno.  "  On  the 
31st  of  January,"  says  Mr.  Hayley,  "  I  received  from 
bim  his  improved  version  of  the  lines  in  question,  writ- 
ten in  a  firm  and  delicate  hand.  The  sight  of  mich  writ- 
log  from  my  long-silent  friend  inspired  me  with  a  lively, 
but  too  sanguine  hope,  that  I  might  see  him  once  more 
restored.  Alas !  the  verses  which  I  surveyed  as  a  de- 
lightful omen  of  future  letters  from  a  correspondent  so 
inexpressibly  dear  to  me,  proved  the  last  effort  of  his 
pen." 

By  the  22d  of  February  his  weakness  had  increased 
to  such  a  degree  as  to  be  incompatible  with  tho  motion 
of  a  carriage,  which  was  therefore  discontinued  from 
that  day. 

Ue  had  now  ceased'to  come  down  stairs,  though  he 
was  8tiU  able,  after  breakfasting  in  bed,  to  adjourn  to 
a  second  room  above,  and  to  remain  there  till  the  even- 
ing. 

Before  the  end  of  March  he  was  obliged  to  forego 
even  the  trifling  exercise  connected  with  this  change 
of  apartments,  and  to  confine  himself  altogether  Uf  his 
bed-room ;  in  which,  however,  ho  sat  up  to  every  meal 
except  breakfast. 

About  this  time  he  was  visited  by  his  friend  Mr. 
Rose,  whose  arrival  at  the  I^odge  at  Weston  he  had  so 
olVen  welcomed  with  the  Queerest  deliglit,  but  whose 
approach  he  now  witnessed  with  scarcely  any  perceiv- 
able pleasure.  His  departure,  however,  on  the  6th  of 
Apiil,  excited  evident  feelings  of  regret  inCowper. 

The  humane  example  exhibited  by  Mr.  Rose,  m 
this  afiectionate  visit  to  the  house  of  a  departing  friend, 
would  have  been  speedily  followed  by  Mr.  Hayley  and 
Lady  Hesketh,  had  not  the  former  been  prevented  by 


LIFE  OF  COWPER.  69 

,  tbo  impending  death  of  a  darling  cbild^  and  the  latter 
by  a  state  of  health  too  infirm  to  warraat  so  long  a 
journey,  and  into  which  she  had  iallen  soon  after  the 
departure  of  Cowper  from  Weston,  in  consequence  of 
her  protracted  and  painCul  confinement  with  her  re- 

.  vored  relative  during  the  early  stage  of  his  calamitous 
depression. 

On  the  10th  of  April  the  weakness  of  this  tmly  piii 
able  sufferer  had  so  much  increased,  that  his  kinsman 
apprehended  his  death  to  be  near.  Adverting,  there- 
fore, to  the  affliction,  as  well  of  body  as  of  mind,  which 
his  beloved  inmate  was  then  enduring,  he  .ventured  to 
speak  of  his  approaching  dissolution  as  the  signal  of 
his  deliverance  from  both  these  miseries.  Ailerapaxtse 
of  a  few  moments,  which  was  less  interrupted  by  the 
objections  of  his  desponding  relative  than  he  had  dared 
to  hope,  he  proceeded  to  an  observation  more  eonsola* 
tory  still ;  namely,  that  in  the  world  to  Which  ho  was 
hastening,  a  merciful  Redeemer  had  prepared  unspeak- 
able happiness  for  all  his  children — and  therefore  for 
him.  To  the  first  part  of  this  sentence  he  had  listened 
with  composure,  but  the  concluding  words  were  no 
sooner  uttered  than  his  passionately  expressed  entrea- 
ties, that  his  companion  would  desist  from  any  further 
observations  of  a  similar  kind,  clearly  proved,  that 
though  it  was  on  the  eve  of  being  invested  with  an- 
gclick  light,  the  darkness  of  delusion  still  veiled  hiB 
spirit. 

The  clerical  duties  of  his  attendant  oocasimied  his 
absence  during  the  greater  part  of  Sunday  the  20th  , 
but  he  learned  on  his  return  that  he  had  in  some  mea 
sure  revived.  He  was,  however,  in  bed,  and  asleep ; 
which  induced  his  kinsman  to  remain  in  the  room,  and 
watch  by  him.  Whilst  engaged  in  this  melanch<^y 
office,  and  endeavouring  to  reconcile  his  mind  to  the 
loss  of  so  dear  a  friend,  by  considering  the  gain  which 
that  friend  would  experience,  his  rel^ections  were  sud- 
•^enly  interrupted  by  the  unusuil  and  singularly  varied 


10  SKETCH  OF  THE 

time  of  bis  bruathng,  which  had  a  ■trikmf  resemUanee 
to  the  conAuwd  natea  of  an  organ.  Inexperienced  a» 
he  then  was  in  the  diTeraified  approacbea  of  the  lait 
■aewenger,  he  conceired  it  to  be  the  sound  of  his  Im- 
mediate snmmons,  and  after  listening  to  it  srtpera] 
BMBotes,  he  arose  from  the  foot  of  the  bed,  on  which 
he  was  sitting,  to  take  a  nearer,  and  a  last  riew  of  his 
departing  relative,  commending  his  soul,  in  nlence,  to 
that  gracious  Saviour,  whom,  in  the  fnhiess  of  mental 
health,  he  had  delighted  to  honour.  As  he  put  aiMe 
the  curtain  he  opened  his  ejes ;  but  closed  them  with- 
^«t  speaking,  and  breathed  as  usual. 

In  the  early  part  of  Monday  the  Slst,  and  indeed  tiS 
towards  the  hour  of  dinner,  he  appeared  to  be  dying, 
but  he  so  iar  recovered  as  to  be  able  to  partake  idigbtly 
•f  that  meal. 

The  near  approach  of  his  disscdation  became  more 
and  more  observaUe  in  erery  succeeding  hour  of  Toes- 
day  and  Wednesdi^. 

On  Thursday  the  weakness  was  not  st  all  diminish- 
ed  ;  but  he  sat  up  as  usual  for  a  short  time  in  the  even- 
hag. 

In  the  course  of  tiie  night,  when  he  appeared  to  be 
exceedingly  exhausted,  some  refreshment  was  present- 
ed to  him  by  Miss  Perowne.  From  a  persuasion,  how- 
•▼er,  that  nothing  eouM  ameliorate  his  feelings,  though 
without  any  i^>parent  impression  that  the  hand  of  death 
was  already  upon  him,  he  rejected  the  cordial  with 
these  words,  the  very  last  that  he  was  heard  to  utter, 
«  What  can  it  signify  ?" 

At  fiye  in  the  morning  of  Friday  the  ^th,  a  deadly 
ehange  in  his  features  was  nbserred  to  take  place.  Hb 
remained  in  an  msensible  state  from  ttai  time  till  about 
&ve  minutes  before  five  in  tho  afternoon,  -vthan  ho  ceas- 
ed to  breathe.  And  in  so  mild  and  gentle  a  manner 
did  his  spirit  take  ite  flight,  that  though  the  writer  of 
this  memoir,  his  medical  attendant,  Mr.  Woods,  and 
IhJree  other  persons,  were  standing  at  the  foot  and  side 


LIFE  OF  COWPER.  61 

of  the  bed,  with  ^heir  eyes  fixed  upon  his  dyings  eoon- 
tenaoee,  the  precise  Bioineiit  of  his  departure  was  unob- 
served by  any. 

From  this  monmfiil  period,  till  the  features  of  his 
deeeased  friend  were  closed  from  his  view,  the  express 
sion  which  the  kinsmaA  of  Gowper  observed  in  them, 
and  which  he  was  affectionately  deligrhted  to  suppose  an 
index  of  the  last  thougrhts  and  eixjoyments  of  his  soul 
In  its  gradual  ewrwye  fn^a  the  depth*  «£  ^eqxmdenoe, 
wis  that  of  calmness  and  composure,  mingled,  as  it 
Wtr9,  ymiit  ho|y  8uii>rae. 

He  was  buried  in  St  Edmund's  Qiapel^in  the  church 
of  East  Dereham,  on  Saturday  the  2d  of  May.  Over 
kis gtave & moaiiaaent  is  ensUd^ bearing  tfaelbMew. 
ing  'amsoftiiMk,  fiKua  ths  pea  of  Mr;  Ziiyley. 

inlfeMory 
Of  Wifiujuc  CowrsB,  £i^. 
Borm  m  MeniotdiAan^  WU, 
Buried  in  this  dtor^ 


Tewbawirii  wttfiMh  tbe  ]M>licft  tritinipb  9kA 
Of  taleiits,  cHgBiied  by  Peered  eeal^ 
0010,  to  dsvotieB^s^banl  devoutly  josl^ 
F^yeiirfQadttibK«echi0lo£k»i|Kfi'8x^      . 
£i^ai|d,  ^Eu2dag  i»  bis  ipodtsi  fiime^ 
Ranks  with  her  dearegi  soas  km  f^v^rkf  ^9Vi 
Sens^,  fancy,  wit,  suffice  not  all  to  raiip 
So  dear  a  title  tQ  afiection's  praise  i 
His  highest  honours  to  the  heart  belong ; 
His  virtues  fbrm'd  the  magick  of  his  soog, 
VoL.nL  6 


POEMS. 


▼SMS8  TTRrmiN  AT  BATBy 

ON  FINDING  THE  HEEL  OF  A  0H<». 

.  Mr  1748. 

FoKTvnc  1  I  thank  Umo  ;  grenUe  Goddewl  thankii 
Not  that  mj  Mvae,  thon^  baakfol,  shall  daay. 
She  waold  hare  thanked  thee  rather,  hadst  thou  cast 
A  treasure  in  her  way ;  ibr  neither  meed 
Of  early  hreakiaat,  to  dispel  the  fumee, 
And  bowel-raokinf  paina  of  enqitiimssy 
Nor  noontide  feast,  nor  eT*sing*s  cool  repast, 
Hopes  wkM  from  this — ^pzenmptnouB,  tho*,  perhaps, 
The  coi>bler,  leather-carvingr  artist  I  might. 
Nathless  dbe  thanks  thee,  and  accepts  thy  boon, 
Whatever ',  not  as  erst  the  &bled  cock. 
Vain-glorious  fool !  unknowing  what  he  found, 
Spum'd  the  rich  gem  thou  gaVst  him.  Wherefore,  ah! 
Why  not  on  me  that  feyour,  (worthier  «ure !) 
Co4ferr*d*0t  thou.    Goddess !    Thou  art  bUnd,  thoa 

say'st; 
Enough !   «thy  blindness  shall  eTtcnse  the  deed. ' 

Nor  does  my  Muse  no  benefit  exhale 
From  this  thy  scant  indulgence  !— even  here, 
Hints  worthy  «age  philosophy  are  found ; 
Illustrious  hints,  to  moralize  my  song ! 
This  pond'rous  heel  of  perforated  hide 
Comport,  with  pegs  indented,  muiy  a  row. 
Haply  <£br  such  its  massy  form  beqyeaks) 
The  weighty  troad  of  some  rude  peasant  ck>wn 


1 


STANZAS.  63 

Upbore :  on  this  supported  oil,  he  streteh'd. 
With  uncouth  strides,  along  the  furrow'd  gleba, 
Flattening  the  stubborn  dhd^  till  cruel  time, 
(What  will  not  cruel  time,)  on  a  wry  lAep, 
Sever'd  the  strict  cohesion ;  when,  alas  1 
He,  1^0  could  erset,  with  even,  equal  pace 
Pursue  his  destin'd  way  with  symmetry, 
And  some  proportion  ferm'd  now,  on  one  side, 
Curtail'd  and  maim'd,  the  f^rt  of  v«|^«it  boyS| 
Cursing  his  frail  supporter,  treacherous  i^op ! 
With  toilfknnt  steps,  and  di&uk,  morem,  on  ;   ' 
Thus  fares  it  oil  with  other  than  the  feet 
Of  humble  villager — the  statesman  thus, 
Up  the  steep  road, 'where  proud  ambition  leads, 
Aspiriiigi  first  uninterrupted  winds 
His  prosperous  way  ;  nor  fears  miscarriage  leal, 
While  policy  prevaUs,  and  friends  prove  true ; 
But  that  support  soon  failing,  by  him  left. 
On  whom  he  most  depended,  basely  left, 
Betray'd,  deserted ;  from^s  airy  height^ 
Head-long,  he  falls ;  and  through  the  rest  of  liib. 
Drags  the  dull  load  of  disappointment  on. 


STANZAS 


•KLCCTED  FBOM  AN  0CCA8I0VAL  CDS  09  THX  FUtSt 
rUBLICATION  OF  SIR  CHARLBS  CmASniSOIf, 

IN  1753. 

To  refeoe  from  the  tyrant's  sword        • 
Th*  oppressed ; — vnseen  and  unimpld^^ 

To  dieer  the  fkee  of  wo^ 
From  lawless  insult  to  def)md 
An  orphan's  right«<^a  faHen  friend, 

iljid  a  ^given  fbe ; 


€4    EPISTLE  TO  ROBERT  LLOYD,  ESQ. 
These,  these  distinguiBh  fWnaa  the  crowd> 
And  these  idoBg,  the  great  and  geod. 

The  gtuurdians  of  mankiBd  ; 
Who0O  bosoms  with  these  yirtues  hew^#, 
O,  with  what  matchless  speed,  tbeyjeavtt 

The  moltkiide  h^ind  I 

THm  oak  ye,  Aron  what  eaose  on  ea^ 
Yiitoeii  fike  these  derite  thek  birth| 

D«nT'd  from  Heav*n  alone, 
FuU  oir  that  farour^  breast  th^jr  sMie, 
Where  ^luth  and  resignation  join 

To  eaU  the  blessiiig  down. 

Such  is  thit  hewt :— but  wh^  ^e  Mum 
Thy  tkene,  O  Ricbaroson,  pmhsiaoB, 

Her  feeble  spirits  ftint : 
She  cannot  teadi,  and  woiM  not  WMag, 
That  subject  of  an  angel's  song, 

The  hero,  and  thfsunt  \ 


In  epistle 

TO  ROBERT  LLOYD,  ESa 

'1754. 

Ti»  tmt  that  I  ^sfgn  to  roo 
Thee  of  thy  birth-right,  gentle  Bob, 
For  thoa  ui  borar  sole  heir,  and  siafiiai 
Of  dewr  Mat  Priori  easy  jiagld ; 
Nor  that  I  mean^  while  thus  I  irait 
My  thread-bare  seBtiments  iogatlsor     .     . 
To  show  n^  i^mufly  or  my  wit. 
When  God  and  you  know  I  have  neither  $ 


S^L-V 


JEPISTLE  TO  ROBERT  LLOYD,  ESQ.     66 

Or  such,  as  might  be  better  shown 

Bj  lettmg  poetry  alone. 

Tis  not  with  either  of  these  fdews. 

That  I  presom'd  t*  address  the  Mnse :  • 

But  to  diyert  a  fierce  banditti, 

(Sworn  fees  to  er'ry  thing  that's  witty !) 

That,  with  a  black,  inlemal  train, 

Make  cruel  inroads  in  my  brain. 

And  daily  threaten  to  drive  thence 

My  little  garrison  of  sense : 

The  fierce  banditti,  which  I  mean. 

Are  gloomy  thoughts,  led  on  by  Spleen. 

Then  there's  another  reason  yet. 

Which  is,  that  I  may  fairly  quit 

The  debt,  which  justly  became  due 

The  moment  when  I  heard  firom  you ; 

And  you  might  grumble,  crony  mine, 

If  paid  in  any  other  coin ; 

Since  twenty  sheets  of  lead,  God  knows, 

(I  would  say  twenty  sheets  i^  prose,) 

Can  ne'er  be  deem'd  worth  half  so  much 

As  one  of  gold,  and  your  s  was  such. 

Thus,  the  preliminaries  settled, 

I  fairly  find  myself  pUcMuUledf 

And  cannot  see,  though  few  see  betteri 

How  I  shall  hammer  out  a  letter. 

First,  for  a  thought — since  all  agree-* 
A  thought — ^I  have  it — ^let  me  see — 
Tis  gone  again — ^plagi:rd  on't  I  I  thought 
I  had  it--but  I  have  it  not. 
Dame  G-urton  thus  and  Hodge  her  son^ 
That  useful  thing,  her  needle,,  gone ! 
Bake  well  the  cinders  sweep  the  floor, 
And  sift  the  dust  behind  the  door ; 

*  Pitch-ketded,  a  &vettrite  phrase  at  the  time  when  this 
Epifde  was  written,  expressive  of  being  pozxled,  or  what,  io 
the  Spectator's  time  wmUd  have  been  caHed  bctmbooxltd, 
6» 


06     ePlBTLB  TO  ROBSRl   fa.LO¥lX  £S^. 

While  eaget  Hodge  beholds  the  pi^zo 
In  old  grimalkm's  glnxmg  eyei ; 
And  gannner  finds  it  on  her  kneM 
*       In  every  rftining  straw  iShe  sees. 
This  simile  were  npl  enongli : 
Bat  Fto  another,  eritiek>proof ! 
The  vtrtnoeo  thus  at  noon, 
Broiling  beneath  a  Jnly  snh, 
The  gilded  butterfly  piinnxes, 
O'er  hedge  and  diteh,  thr6ngh  ^|is«ld  iM^ 
And  after  many  a  rain  essay, 
To  captfrate  the  templing  prey. 
Gives  him  at  length  the  lucky  pat, 
And  has  him  saft  'beneath  his  hat : 
Then  lifts  it  gently  from  the  gromid; 
Bat  ah !  *tis  lost  as  soon  as  Ibond  * 
Calprit  his  liberty  regains, 
Flits  out  of  sight,  aitd  moeiks  fib  |>ttin8. 
The  sense  was  dark  r 'twas  therefore  fit 
With  simiie  t'  ilhistrate  it ; 
But  as  too  much  obscures  the  lii^t^ 
As  often  as  too  little  Hght, 
We  have  our  similes  ctit  short  j 
For  matters  of  more  grave  import. 
That  Mftttiiew^  nos^ers  ran  wl^  «tiM 
Each  ma^i  of  common  Sense  agrees; 
All  men  of  common  se9se  allow, 
That  Robert's  lines  are  easy  too ; 
Where  then  the  prefrence  shall  we  place. 
Or  how  do  justice  in  thb  case  ? 
Matthew  (says  Fame)  with  endless  pains, 
-  Smoothed  and  refined  the  meanest  strains, 
Nor  sufl[er*d  one  ill-chosen  rhyiiie 
T'  escape  hiin  at  the  idlest  lime  ^ 
And  thus  o'er  all  a  liistre  cast,  '  * 

That,  while  the  iangua^  UvM,  i^idl  tel^- 
An*t  please  your  ladyship,  (quoth  I,) 
For  'tis  my  business  to  reply : 


J 


JOUENET  TO  BRUNDUSnjM. 
8«ire  flo  mach  labour,  so  much  toO, 
Bespeak  at  least  a  stobborn  soil : 
Theirs  be  the  laurel  wreath  deoreed 
Who  both  write  weU,  aad  write  full 
Who  throw  their  Helicon  about 
As  freely  as  a  conduit  spout ; 
Friend  Robert,  tkua  like  Mem 
Lets  Ml  a  poem  «m  pa3$antj 
Nor  needs  his  gemiuie  ore  refine  i 
Tie  leady  ^polish'd  0pen  the  miiM. 


THfi  FIFTH  SATiAB 

OF  THS 

FIRST  BOOK  OF  HOiUiC& 

[Ptinted  in  BKnibontbo's  Hoiwse;  J 

1759. 

A  immourinu  DeMeriftum  qftka  Jmtitar^g  Jfmmte^rom 
Rome  i0  Bnmdmtmm, 

*TwA8  a  loRg^  jowmej  lajr  belbM  «i) 
When  I,  and  henest  Heiiodonis> 
Who  far  in  point  of  riietorick 
Surptsses  every  liTing  Greek, 
£aeh  leaTing  our  respeotiye  hoin«| 
Together  sitUied  forth  from  Rome 


m  JOURNEY  TO  BRUNDUSIUM. 

Hrst  at  Alicia  wo  alight, 
And  there  refVesh,  and  pass  the  night, 
Our  entertainment  rather  coai^se 
Than  sumptuous,  but  Fve  met  with  worse. 
Thence  o'er  the  causeway  soft  and  fair 
To  Appiiforum  we  repur. 
But  as  this  road  is  well  supplied 
(Temptation  strong  !)  on  either  side 
With  inns  commodious,  snug,  and  warm 
We  split  the  joumej,  and  perform 
In  two  days  time  what's  often  done 
By  brisker  travellers  in  one. 
Here,  rather  choosing  not  to  sup 
Than  with  bad  water  mix  my  cup, 
After  a  warm  debate,  in  spite 
Of  a  proToking  appetite, 
I  sturdily  resolv'd  at  last 
To  balk  it-,  and  pronounce  a  fast, 
And  in  a  moody  humour  wait> 
While  my  less  dainty  comrades  bait 

Now  o*er  the  spangled  hemisphere 
DlAtfed  the  starry  train  appear. 
When  there  arose  a  desp'rate  brawl ; 
The  daves  and. bargemen,  one  and  all, 
Renduig  theur  throats  (have  mercy  on  us) 
As  if  the/  were  resolved  to  stun  us,) 
**  Steer  the  barge  tbia  way  to  the  shore ; 
I  tell  you  we*ll  admit  no  more ; 
Plague !  will  you  never  be  content  ?" 
Thus  a  whde  hour  at  least  is  iqMnt, 
While  they  receive  the  several  fares, 
And  kick  the  mule  into  his  gears. 
Happy,  these  difficulties  past, 
Could  we  have  fall'n  asleep  at  last ' 
But,  what  with  humming,  croaking,  biting, 
Gnats,  frogs,  and  all  their  plagues  unitixigf 
These  tuneful  natives  of  the  lake 


JOURNEY  TO  BRUNDUSIUM.     *       1^9 
Conspir'd  to  ke^p  ua  broad  awake. 
Besides  to  make  the  concert  full, 
Two  maadlin  wights,  ezceedingr  doU,  ' 
The  BargemaA  and  a  passenger, 
Each  in  his  turn,  essay'd  an  air 
In  honour  of  his  absent  fdir. 
At  length  the  passenger,  qppieftt 
With  wine,  left  off,  and  snor'd  the  reM. 
The  weaiy  bargeman  too  gave  o*er, 
And  hearing  his  companion  snore, 
Setz'd  the  occasion^  fiz'd  the  barge, 
Tum'd  out  bk  mirie  to  graze  at  larg«y 
And  slept  forgetful  of  his  charge. 
And  now  the  sun  o'tir  eastern  hitt, 
Discovered  that  our  baige  stood  still } 
When  one,  whose  anger  vex'd  him  soie, 
With  malice  firanght,  leaps  quick  on  shoiv ; 
Plucks  up  a  stake,  with  many  a  thwack 
Assails  the  mule  and  driver's  baek. 

Then  olo^  moving  on  wkk  paia. 
At  ten  Feronia's  stream  we  gaiiiy 
And  in  her  pur^  and  glassy  wave 
Our  hands  and  ftces  glad^  kve. 
Climbmg  tJuee.miles,  fair  Anznr's  height 
We  reach,  with  stcoiy  ^piarries  white. 
While  hero;  at  was  agreed  we  wak. 
Till,  charg'd  with  butiness  of  the  stats, 
MoBcenas  and  Coooeius^  coBe^ 
The  messengers  of  peace  from  Rome 
My  eyes,  by  wat*ry  humours  biear 
And  sore,  I  with  blaek  balsam  smear. 
At  length  they  Join  us,  and  witii  tiwro 
Our  worthy  friend  Fonteius  cama ; 
A  n^aa  of  sfK^h  oomi^te  desert, 
Antony  lov'd  him  at  his  heart. 
At  Fundi,  wQ  re&is'd  to  bait, 
And  laugh'd  at  vain  Aufidius'  state« 


70  JOURNEY  TO  BRUNDUSIUM. 

A  prstor  now,  a  scribe  before, 
The  purple-boider'd  robe  he  wore, 
His  slave  the  smoking  censer  bore. 
Tlr'd,  at  Munsna's  we  repose, 
At  Formia  sup  at  Capito's. 

With  smiles  the  rising  mom  we  greety 
At  Sinuessa  pleas'd  to  meet 
With  Plotiusy  Viirias,  and  the  bard 
Whom  Mantua,  first  with  wonder  heard. 
The  world  no  purer  spirits  knows; 
For  none  my  heart  more  warmlj  ghwM. 
O  !  what  embraces  we  bestowed, 
And  with  what  joy  our  breasts  o'erilow'd 
Sure,  while  my  sense  is  sound  aisd  clear, 
Long  as  I  live,  I  shall  prefer 
A  gay,  good  imtur'd,  easy  friend, 
To  every  blessing  Heav'n  can  send. 
At  a  small  village  the  next  night 
Near  the  Vultumus  we  alight ; 
Where,  as  employ^  on  state  affairs, 
Wo  were  supply'd  by  the  purveyors 
.Frankly  at  once,  and  without  hbe, 
With  food  for  man  and  horse,  and-ftr^. 
Capua  next  day  bethnos  we  reach,  ' 

Where  Virgil  and  myself,  who  each 
Labour 'd  with  diffisrent  maladies. 
His  such  a  stomach,  mine  such  eyes. 
As  would  not  bear  stfong  exercise.* 
In  drowsy  mood  to  sleep  resort ; 
Mecenas  to  the  tennis-court. 
Next  at  Ck>ooeins*8  farm  we're  treated; 
Above  the  caudian  tavern  seated ; 
His  kmd  and  hospitable  board 
With  choice  of  wholesome  food  was  st^r'i. 

Now,  O  ye  nine,  inq>ire  my  lays ! 
To  nobler  themes  my  fancy  rise  * 


-ZPCSPSSfSF^ 


JOUEN£y  TO  BRUNDlfSlUM-  n 

Two  combatants,  who  scorn  to  yield 
The  noisy,  tongue-^iqpnted  field, 
Surmentiui  and  Cicirrus,  claim 
A  poet's  tribute  to  their  fame ; 
Cicirrus  of  true  Oscian  breed, 
Sarmentus,  who  was  never  freed. 
But  ran  away.    We  dbnt  defame  him , 
'His  lady  lives,  and  still  irtoy  cklmhim. 
Thus  dignified,  in  harder  fray 
These  champions  their  keen  wit  display, 
And  first  Sanaentus  led  the  way. 
"  Thy  locks,  (guoth  he  so  rough  and  coarge, 
Look  like  the  maae  of  some  wild  horse," 
We  laugk :  Cicirrus,  undismayed — 
«  Have  at  you  !"-*«rie8,  and  shakes  hts  heatf. 
"  'Tis  well  (Sarmentus  says)  you've  lost 
That  horn  your  forehead  once  oo^  boast ; 
Since,  maim'd  and  mangled  as  you  are. 
Ton  seem  to  butt."    A  hkieous  sear 
Improved  ('tis  true)  with  double  grace 
The  native  horrours  of  his  face. 
Well.    After  much  jocosely  said 
Of  his  grim  front,  so  fiVy  red, 
(For  CadNiacles  had  bloteh'd  it  o'er, 
As  usual  on  Campania's  shore) 
"  Give  us,  (be  cried)  siaee  yovL*Te  so  big 
A  sample  of  the  Cyclop's  jig ! 
Tour  shai^  methinks  no  buskins  adc, 
Nor  does  your  phiz  requure  a  marib."- 
To  this  Cicirrus.    *<  In  Mtnm 
Of  you,  Sir,  now  I  fiiin  would  learn, 
When  'twas,  no  longer  deem'd  a  sUive, 
Tour  chains  you  to  the  Lares  gave. 
For  tho*  a  scrivener's  right  you  ^im, 
Tour  lady's  title  is  the  same. 
But  what  could  make  you  run  away. 
Since,  pigmy  as  you  are,  each  day 


99B 


73  JOURNEY  TO  BliUNi>U8IUH. 

A  nngle  pound  of  bread  would  quite 
0*erpow*r  your  puny  appetite  !" 
Thuf  jok*d  the  championa,  while  wm  UmgMf 
And  many  a  cheerful  bumper  qmS^A* 

To  BenoTepMun  aext  w»  ateer , 
Where  our  good  host»  by  ayer  cam 
In  roasting  thrushes  lean  aa  ada^ 
Had  almost  fairn  a  sacrifice. 
The  kitchen  soon  was  all  on  firsy 
And  to  the  roof  the  flames  i 
There  might  you  ace  each  i 
Striving,  amidst  this  aad  disaster. 
To  save  the  supper-    Then  thoy  eawa 
With  spaed  enough  to'queneh  the  fLmob^ 
From  hence  we  first  at  ^jatence  see     ' 
Th'  Apulian  hills,  well  knewn  to  me^ 
Parch'd  by  the  SNdtry  western  hhsl^ 
And  which  we  never  fbould  have  ^tmt, 
Had  not  Trivioius  bj  ^*  ^^^7 
Receiv'd  us  at  the  close  of  day. 
But  each  was  ibrc'd  at  ent'rkig  1 
To  pay  the  tribute  of  a  tear, 
For  more  of  smoj^e  than  fire  t 
The  hearth  was  pil'd  witb  Iqgsso  i 
From  hence  in  chaises  we  were  canied 
Miles  twenty-four,  aaid  gladly  tanied 
At  a  small  town,  wk^fo  nune  my  isii 
(So  barb*rous  is  it)  ean'i  rehearse. 
Know  it  you  may  hy  m»My  a  sign. 
Water  is  dearer  fiur  than  wine. 
Their  bread  is  deem'd  such  dainty  flov, 
That  ev'ry  prudent  traveller 
His  wallet  loads  with  many  a  crust 
For  at  Canusium  you  might  jnst 
As  well  attempt  to  gnaw  a  stone 
As  think  to  get  a  morsel  down ; 


J 


i9URNEY  TO  BRUNDUSIUM. 
Thui  too  with  scanty  streams  is  fed ; 
Its  founder  was  braire  Diomed. 
Good  Varius  (ah,  that  friends  must  port !) 
■ilere  left  us  all  with  aching  heart, 

.  At  Rubl  we  arriv'd  that  day,- 
W«U  jaded  bjT  the  fei^  of  way,     . 
And  sure  poor  mortals  ne*er  were  wetter  * 
Next  day  no  weather  could  he  better ; 
No  roads  fo  bad ;  we  sotMe  eoald  crawl 
Along  to  fishy  Barium's  wall. 
Th'  Ignatiaas  next,  who  by  the  rvles 
Of  common  sense  are  knaves  or  fools, 
Made  all  our  sides  widl  laughter  hearo, 
Since  we  with  them  must  needs  belieTa^ 
That  incense  in  their  temples  boms,  - 
And  without  fire  to  ashes  turns. 
To  eircnmoision's  bif  ots  teQ 
Such  tales!  £ot  mt,  I  know fuU  w«ll, 
That  in  High  Hes(v*n,  unnioff'd  by  < 
The  Gods  eternal  ^uiet  share  : 
Nor  can  I  deem  ^^  vpleen  the  4 
Why  fickle  natwre  brmJie  her  laws. 
Bmndusium  last  we  readh :  and  ibitm 
Stop  short  th»  jnuM  »od  icai^elter. 

T01.IU.  7 


THE  NINTH  SATIRE 

OF  TBE 

FIRST  BOOK  OP  HORACE. 

THB  PKSCKIPTiON  OF  AN  IMFERTfltEirr. 
AifeirrxD  TO  THC  pRftssKT  Ttanrs, 

Savnt'sivo  along  tho  street  one  day, 
On  trifles  mnnng  by  the  way— - 
Up  steps  a  free  familiar  wigiit, 
(I  scarcely  knew  the  man  by  sig-lit.)    '  "      \ 
"  Cailoi,  (he  cn^A)  your  hand,  my  dekr , 
*  Gad,  I  rejoice  to  meet  yon  here  ! 
Pray  Heay'n  t  see  yon  wefi^?"  »*  -So,  bo  ; 
Ev'n  well  enough  as  times  new  go. 
The  same  good  wiidies,  idr,  to  yon." 
Finding  he  still  piirsa*d  me  elose^ 
*<  Sir,  you  have  business,  I  suppose." 
''  My  business,  sir,  is  quickly  done, 
'TIS  but  to  make  my  merit  known. 
Sir,  I  haye  read" — ^*^  O  learned  Sir, 
You  and  ydur  learning  I  rerere." 
Then,  sweating  with  anxiety, 
And  sadly  longing  to  get  free, 
Gods,  how  I  scampered,  scuffled  for*t, 
Ran,  halted,  ran  again,  stopp*d  short. 
Beckoned  my  boy,  and  puird  him  near, 
And  whisper'd  nothing  in  his  ear. 

Teas'd  with  his  loose  unjointed  chat — 
^  What  street  is  this  ^  What  house  is  that  1*' 


INSCRIPTION  OF  AN  IMPERTINENT.  75 

0  Harlow,,  how  I  envied  thee 
Thy  unabaeh'd  ^f^nUerjp  - 

Who  dar'st  a  foe  with  freedom  blaiQei 
And  call  a  ooxcomh  ky  his  nai|ie ! 
When  I  retorn'd'him  answer  nonoi 
Obligioglj,thi9  fool  Tvi  en^ 
''  I  see  yoQ're  diraiaUy  distress^dy 
Would  give  the  world  to  be  celeas'd. 
But„  bj  jonr  leia¥«>  six,  I  ahaU  sliU 
Stick  to  your  aluffts^  do  what  jeu  will 
Pray,  which  loijr  dots  yow  joocnej  tcod  r" 
<'  O  'tis  a  tedioas  way,  my  friend, 
Across  the  Thames,  ihe  Lord  knows  wheT»» 

1  would  not  trouble  you  so  far.", 

"  Well,  Pm  at  leisure  to  attend  you." 

"  Are  you 7  (thought  I)  the  De'il  bAfriend  you." 

No  ass  with  double  panniers  rack'd, 

Oppressed,  overladen,  hroken-back'd. 

E'er  looked  a  thousandth  pact  so  dull 

As  I,  nor  half  so  like  a  fool. 

«  Sir,  I  know  little  of  myself, 

(Proceeds  the  pert  conceited  elf) 

^  If  Gray  or  Mason  jou  will  deem 

Than  me  more  worthy  your  esteem. 

Poems  I  write  by  folios 

As  fast  as  other  men  write  prose  ; 

Then  I  can  sing  90. loud,  so  clear, 

That  Beaiid  cannot  with.me  compara.' 

In  dancing  too  I  all  surpass, 

Not  Cooke  can  move  with  such  a  graoe."      , 

Heie  I  made  shift  with  much  ado 

To  interpose  a  word  or  two< — 

**  Have  yon  no  parents,  sir,  no  friends. 

Whose  welfare  on  your  own  depends  ?*' 

"  Parents,  relation,  say  you  ?  No. 

They're  all  disposed  of  long  ago."-^ 

"  Happy  to  be  no  more  perplexed  I 

My  fate  too  threatens,  I  go  next.  * 


75    DESCREPTIDN  OF  AN  IMPERTIKJBN* 
Despatch  me,  sir,  'ik  bow  too  kte,. 
Alas  t  to  struck  willi  my  &to ! 
Well,  I'flfr Mirvlite*d  my  tlitte  is  domil>"> 
When  yoangf  a  gipsy  told>  wgy  domsk 
The  beldame  sho^  her  palridd  liMid^ 
As  she  peros'd  my  palm^  aad  said : 
Of  poison,  pestUenee,  or  tiwri 
Gout,  stone  defluitoai  or  MKtatiliy 
Ton  havtt  no  reasea  to  hewiM. 
Beware  the  cezeoash*s  idle  psate  > 
Chiefty,  my  son,  h%wwte  ef  thst. 
Be  sure,  when  yott  behold  hii%  fly 
Out  of  all  Mnhoty  o«  yon  ^^" 

To  Rnfiis'  HaD  we  now  draw  near  ; 
Where  he  was  summon'd  to  appear, 
Refhte  the  charge  the  plaintifi'  brought 
Or  suffer  judgment  by  default^ 
"  For  Heaven's  sake,  if  you  love  me,  wait 
One  moment !  I'll  b6  with  you  straight.'* 
Glad  of  a  plausible  preiiBnce— 
. "  Sir,  I  must  beg  you  to  dispense 
With  my  attendance  in  the  court. 
My  legs  will  surely  suffer  fbr't" 
"  Nay,  pritliee,  OaAoSj  stop  awhile  t»» 
"  Faith,  sir,  in  law  I  have  no  skilL 
*     Besides,  I  have  no  timo  to  spiare, 
I  must  be  going  you  know  where.** 
«  Well,  I  protest,  Fm  doubtfiil  ttow, 
Whether  to  leave  my  suit  or  you  !** 
"  Me  without  scruple  !  (I  teply) 
Me  by  all  mfeans,  shr  »*''—"  No,  not  I. 
Allans  Monsieur!"    *Twere  vaitt  (y&ti  kitti#) 
To  strive  "With  a  victoriotis  £be. 
So  I  reluctantly  obey 
And  follow,  where  he  le^s^flie  way. 

Tou  and  Newc^tle  are  so  close. 
Still  hand  and  glove,  sir-  ^I  suppose.-— 


DESaEOFrrON  of  an  impertinent*  77 
Newcastle  (let  me  tett  joa,  sir) 
Has  not  Ids  «qoa)  every  wi^e^  < 
Well.    There  indeed  your  fortnne's  made , 
Faith,  sir,  fan  imderstaBd  y«ar  trultf. 
Would  yoo  but  give  me  your  good'ivord  i  ' 
Just  intro^ttOtt  me  to  my  lord. 
I  should  servo  riiarmin^  by  vmy 
Ofsecondfiddloiasthdyeay:  ' 
What  think  yen,  «r  ?  ^were  -a  gitoA  je«t, 
Slife,  we  should  ^cidy^sdoof  the  rest.**-* 
«  Sir,  yoa  n^slskO'the  matter  ftr, 
We  have  no  seebnd  fiddles  thero.-^ 
Richer  than  I  some  f^ki  may  bid ; 
More  learned,  but  H  hnrts  not  me. 
Friends,  tho*  he  has  of  different  kind, 
Each  has  his  proper  place  assigned." 
**  Strange  matters  these  alleg'd  by  you !"— * 
**  Strange  they  may  be,  but  they  are  true."— 
"  Well,  then,  I  vow,  tis  mighty  clever, 
Now  I  long  ten  times  more  than  ever 
To  be  advanced  extremely  near 
One  of  his  shimng  character. 
Have  but  the  will — ^there  wants  no  more  ' 
'TIS  plain  enough  you  have  the  pow*r. 
His  easy  temper  (that's  the  worst) 
He  knows,  and  is  so  shy  at  first.— 
.But  such  a  cavalier  as  you —  '      • 

Lord,  sir,  you'll  quickly  bring  him  to  !"— 
*^  Well ;  if  I  fiiil  in  my  design. 
Sir,  it  shall  be  no  fault  of  mine. 
If  by  the  saucy  servile  tribe 
Denied,  what  think  you  of  a  bribe  ? 
Shut  out  to-day,  not  die  with  sorrow 
But  try  my  luck  again  to-morrov^ 
Never  attempt  to  visit  him 
But  at  the  most  convenient  time 
Attend  him  on  each  levee  day, 
And  there  uiy  liumble  duty  pay 


TT.  DEScauPTioN  OF  AfT  iMPsmaascwr 

Labour,  like  thb,  oar  wtal  wq^plite  ;. 
And  they  must  itooii  who  mea&te  aiefe** 

l/Hiile  thm  he  wSttmi^  htfwtgtt^, 
For  vhkk  jmH  gnam  I  wieb'd  htehaa|^. 
Campley,  a  friend  of  ndnei^  eaaae  b)r|« 
yVho  knew  hie  hnmoor  mote  ihm  L 
We  atop,  aalnte,  and— ^<  why  ae  ihit, 
FriendCMU»l  Whfther  aU  tiu»haai^^'^. 
Fir'd  at  the  tba^fhtaof  a  lepiieve, 
I  pinch  him,  pidlhiaif  twlteh  hia rieevO| 
Nod,  beckon,,  bite  my  lipa^  wink^^poHt^ 
Do  ev'ry  things  bat  apeak  plain,  aotx  • 
While  he,  aad  fkify^fieom  the  befinning^; 
Detennin'd tomiaUke  my  menningj . 
Inatead  of  pitying  my  coxae. 
By  jeering  made  it  ten  times  worse. 
«  Campley^  what  aecret,.  (p^7  •)  was.  tha 
Ton  wanted  to  conmrnnioate  ?" 
**  I  recollect.    But  'tis  no  matter. 
Carlos,  we'll  talk  of  that  hereafter. 
E'en  let  the  secret  rest.    *TwiUteU 
*  Another  time,,  m^  jnst  aa  weUr** 

Was  ever  such  a  dismaJ  dhy  f 
Unlucky  cur,  he  steals  away. 
And  leaves  me,  half  bereft  of  life. 
At  mercy  of  the  butcher's  knife ; 
When  sudden,  shouting  from  aiar,^ 
See  his  antagonist  appear  ! 
The  bailiff  seiz'd  him.  quick  as  thought 
"  Ho,  Mr.  Scoundrel !  are  you  caught  f 
Sir,  you  are  witness  to  th'  arrest." 
"  Aye  marry,  sir,  111  do  my  best." 
The  mob  huzzas.     Away  tiiey  trudge, 
Culprit  and  all,  before  the  judge. 
Meanwhile  I  luckily  enough 
(Thanks  to  Apollo)  got  clear  off. 


ADDRESSED  TO  MISS 

ON  BEADlKcr 

THE  PRATER  Y<M  Uim¥VS»£RQK. 

Airo  dwells  ther^  ia  »  hmah  heuif. 

By  bounteous  heav'n  desi^^'d 
The  choicest  raptures  to  imput. 

To  feel  the-moBt  rsfis'i^^ 

DwoIIt  there  a  wish  iil  wad^mbalU^^ 

Its  nature  to  fore^ 
To  smother  In  i^oble  rest 

At  once  botfi  bliss  and  wo ! 

Far  be  t^  thought^  and  fitt  th»eiMuf)' 

Which  breadws'the  lowd«sb#; 
How  sweet  soe'er  the  verse  complain. 

Though  Phoeboflstl^jgr  this  1:^0;  / 

Come  then,  fair  maid,  (hi  nattffe  yrtmf^- 

Who,  knowing  theffi,  cati  tell 
From  gen'rous  sympathy  what  joys 

The  glowing  bosom  swelL 

In  justice  to  the  Tarious  pow'rs 

Of  pleasing;  which  you  share, 
Join  me,  amid  your  silent  hours, 

To  form  the  better  prfy*r. 

*  For  Mrs.  Qrevilie^s  Ode.  lee  AmM  RsKiitef,  ^oL  ▼  p 
SQ2. 


ADDRESS  TO  MISS 

With  lenient  balm,  may  OhWon  hence 

To  fairy  land  be  driv*n  ; 
With  or'ry  herb  that  blunts  the  sense 

Mankind  receiv'd  from  heav'n. 

^  Oh !  if  my  soylrei^  Author  pleaeoi 

Far  be  it  from  my  fate, 
To  live,  unblest,  in  torpid  ease. 

And  dumber  on  in  state. 

Eaeh  tender  tie  of  life  defied 
Whence  social  pleasures  spring, 

Unmov'd  with  all  the  world  beside, 
A  solitary  thing — " 

Some  Alpine  mountain,  wrapt  in  enow» 
Thus  braves  the  whirling  blast. 

Eternal  winter  doom'd  to  know, 
No  genial  spring  to  taste. 

In  vain  warm  suns  their  influenos  shed, 

The  zephyrs  sport  in  vain, 
He  rears,  unchanged,  his  barren  head; 

Whilst  beauty  decks  the  plain. 

What  tho'  in  scaly  armour  drest. 

Indifference  may  repel 
The  shafls  of  wo — in  such  a  breast 

No  joy  can  ever  dwell. 

"Tis  woven  in  the  world's  great  plan, 
And  fix'd  by  heaven's  decree. 

That  all  the  true  delights  of  man 
Should  spring  from  Sympathy, 

*Tis  nature  bids,  and  whilst  the  laws 

Of  nature  we  retain, 
Our  self-approving  bosom  draws 

A  pleasure  from  its  pain. 


ABDRESS  TO  MISS ^  81 

Thus  grief  itseif  has  comfoYts  dear. 

The  sordid  never  know  ', 
An  ecstas/  attends  the  tear,^  , 

When  Virtue  bids  it  flow»^ 

For,  when  it  streams  freitt  that  i»tir6  settit« 

No  Jbribes  the  heart  can  wiD» 
To  check,  or  alter  firofia  ks  course 

The  luxury  within. 

J^eace  to  the  phlegm  of  sullen  elves, 

Who,  if  from  labour  eas'd, 
Extend  no  care  beyond  themselves, 

Unpleasing  and  unpleas'd. 

Let  no  low  thought  suggest  the  prayer, 

Oh !  grant,  kind  hcav'n,  to  me. 
Long  as  I  draw  ethereal  air. 

Sweet  Sensibility. 

Where'er  the  heavenly  nymph  is  seen, 

With  lustre-b^amin^  e^e, 
A  train,  attend&nt  on  theb  C[tre«M, 

(Her  rosy  chorus)  fly. 

The  jocund  Loves  in  Hymen's  band. 

With  torches  ever  bright. 
And  gon'rous  Frieadsfaap- hand  in  hand 

With  Pity's  wat'ry  sight. 

The  gentler  virtues  too  are  join'd, 

In  youth  immortal  warm, 
The  soft  relations,  which,  combin'd, 

Giv9  lifii  hw  ev'ry^  charm. 

The  a»ts  ooac  flWiling  in  the  closer, 

And  lend  CQlefl^ad  fire, 
The  marWo  breathes,  the  canvass  glow% 

The  moads  sweep  the  lyre. 


# 


TRANSLATION  FROM  VlftQH* 
"  Still  may  my  nteking  boaom  cleave 

To  sufferings  not  my  own, 
Ayd  still  the  sigh  responsive,  liearoy  . 

Where'er  is  heard  a  groan* 

S3  Pity  shall  take  Virtae'a  part, 
Her  natural  ally,  -* 

And  fashioning  my  soften'd  heart, 
Prepare  it  for  the  sky/' 

This  artless  vow  may  heav'n  receive, 
And  you,  fond  maid,  approve : 

So  may  your  gdiding  angel  give 
Whatever  you  wish  or  love. 

So  may  the  r6sy-finger*d  hours 

Lead  en  the  various  year. 
And  ev*ry  joy,  Which  now  is  yours, 

Extend  a  larger  sphere. 

And  tons  to  come,  as  round  they  wheel 

Your  golden  moments  bless, 
With  all  a  tender  heart  <ian  feel, 

Or  lively  fancy  guess. 


TRANSLATION  FROM  VlRGIU 

MWEID,  BOOK  Tlllk  UfflB  1& 

Tbvs  Italy  was  moved— nor  ^id  the  chie^ 
£neas,  in  his  minc^less  tumult  'feel. 
On  every  .sidejus  anJEious  thought  he  tuns, 
ResUesfl^  unfit,  not  knowing  virhat  to  choose* 


TltAN8LATK»N  PROM  VTRGIL.  88 

And  as  a  dtterti  that  in  brim  of  brass 
Confines  the  erjstal  flood,  if  cbanee  the  son 
Smile  on  it,  or  the  moon's  resplendent  orb,         « 
The  qaiv'ring  light  now  flashes  on  the  wdkr. 
Now  leaps  uncertain  to  the  ranlted  roof: 
Such  were  the  wavering  molions  of  his  nmid. 
Twas  night — and  weary  nature  tank  to  rest, 
The  birds,  the  bleating  flocdcs  wei«  heari  no  inor«« 
At  leagfth,  on  the  cold  ground,  beneatli  the  damp 
And  dowj  vaalts,<ftst  by  the  rivmr's  brink, 
The  Father  of  his  country  sought  repose. 
When  lo !  among  the  spreading  poplar  boogbs^ 
Forth  from  his  pleasant  stream,  propitious  rose 
The  god  of  Tiber :  clear  transparent  gauze 
Iilfdds  his  loiils,  his  brows  with  reeds  are  crown'd : 
And  these  his  gracioaawobrda  to  sooth  his  caw ;  ' 
**  Ha«^en>bom,  who  bringVrt  oor  kmdffed  hovM  again 
Rescued,  and  gif^atemity  to  Troy, 
Long  have  Laurentam  ancttiie  Latiaa  plains 
Expected  thee ;  behold  thy  fix'd  abode. 
Fear  not  the  thieats  of  war,  tbe  storm  is  past'd, 
The  gods  appeased.    Fov  pfroof  that  what  thoa  hear'st 
Is  no  vain  forgery  er4eiasive  dream, 
Beneath  the  grove  that  borders  my  green  bank, 
A  milk-white  swine,  with  thirty  milk-white  yoang, 
Shall  greet  thy  wondering  eyes.    Mark  w«ll  the  place, 
For  'tis  thy  i^iee.of  rest.:  .thqro  end  thy  toils : 
There,'jlhrice.  ten  years  eli^*d,  fiiir  Alba's  walls 
Shall  rise,  fair  Alba,  by  Ascanms*  hand. 
Thus  shall  it  be— i^ew  listen,  while  I  teach 
The  means  t^  ascompli^  tlase  events  athand. 
Th'  Arcadians  here,  -a  race  frcnn  Pallas  t^mag, 
Following  £vaBdeHa  standard  and  his  &to. 
High  on  these  mountains,  a  well  chosen  spot. 
Have  built  a  eii^r  ^'^r  their  Grandsire'a  sake. 
Named  Pallanteum.    These,  perpetpal  war 
Wage  with  tha>Laitaas :  join'd  iiriiithfhl  leagoo' 
And  arms  oonifiBd*rate,add  them  to  ymm  eaaip.  -  • 


■'^'■■^'  a    ■  s:.g; 


M         TBAH8LAT10N  FROM  VIRGfl^. 

Mysolf,  between  mj  wiadiog  btzdu^  wHl  WfmM 

Tour  well-«Hr*dlMiii»  lo  steoi  th'  opposbf  iid«» 

Rise,  goddeM-ban^sarifle  ;  ium}  wilb  Ui^^iib 

Declining  wtma,  woek  Jmio  w  ^  pniyVi 

And  ranquish  ^  liar  «rtlh  vitk  mppiiiil  iwhp»« 

When  coaqaiit  9tmnm  ll»«»  thmt  twpowibnf  Jfti. 

I  am  the  Tiber,  vhoae  ^vmhmn  etnetM 

HeaT^B  fitvuofff ;  I  irillb^«afMkme  flood  divide 

Theae  grtaajr  b«ik»,  oad  filoMPO  tbs  ifvitfei  nMMMlii 

My  maniion,  Thia  i  mnA  iotbf  oitiea  cvovb 

My  foontainaMa^^-^fiie  o|K>koaMl  aoogbt  tim  deep. 

And  ploag'd  lua  ^mm  hmmmtk  the  itong'  flood. 

JEneaa  «l  Ifao  tBemisg  daav&avnbe, 

And  riamg,  witb  lyiiftad  eye  he^ld 

The  otteiit  ava,  ttei  dipped  him  palmByaad  nawifM 

The  braMBing  atraorn,  and thaa  a^faieaa^d  tfie ^kieft; 

^  Te  nynpha,  Xitiuemtaoa  nyvipha,  mbo  fiaod4be«B0iei 

Of  many  a  atreainy  an4  ihev,  vitb  tfiy  Woaa'd  flood, 

O  Tiber,  heor^  aeoapt  no»  and.  a^brd, 

At  lengtii  afford,  a  abdtec  from  aojr  woeo. 

Where'eiitt  aeocei  aavnaundtt  gfonnA, 

Thy  waten  deep,  vhero^  4hey  apiiBgio  Ugfaty    - 

Since  thoa  hast  pi^  lor  a  vxafeek  l&e  me. 

My  ofTiMfi  omI  mf  Tova  ahaU  wait  thee  aliL 

Great  hemed  Father  of  fieapenan  flaada, 

Re  graeioaa  nov  and  ratify  4iy  mcd." 

He  said,  and  chiaee  two  g^ea  frena  lua  fleel. 

Fits  them  ivuith  oan,  and  elothea  the  omw  ia4maa, 

When  lo !  aatglwahing  and  pfeap&goight. 

The  milk-white  4am,  with  hot  iwipetlod  broedt 

Lay  atretah'd  apon  Utt  <faaidi,  henooth  the  gaoMt 

To  thee,  Ihe  pimu  Prmce,  i«ie,  4p  thoa 

Devotes  thorn  idl,  all  om  tiuae  altar  Uaod. 

'fhat  live-long  night  eid  Tiber  amoeth^  hia  floods  - 

And  8o  reiattain'td  it,  that  it  aeom^  to  i 

Motionless  aaapQcl^  or  sileat  kke. 

That  not  a  billow  might  reiist  UMur  < 

With  cheoBfwIjmnnd^  wriiealaMaP  i 


=2s£2:rr^ 


*llAN9LATION  FROM  VIR-GIL.         tB 
Their  "rofttge  ih^y  hegm ;  tire  pitchy  kcBi 
Slides  through  the  getttle  ^ep^,  the  qtdet  ^f  efttti 
Admires  tii'  unwonted  bortben  t)mt  it  h6HHj 
Well  polidt*d  ttrms,  ftnd  teasels  i^idttted  gky. 
Beneath  the  shsde  of  varioiiB  tt^es,  b^tweefl 
Th'  umbrageous  brafuehes  of  th6  tfpt«tditt^  gM%t 
They  cnt  their  Hqtiid  ^Wy,  nor  nfeiy,  nof  night 
They  slack  their  eotirs^i  nnwindifig  tothfey  go 
Th0  long  mdiikhderA  of  lixe  pe^HefiA  t!^. 

The  glowhig  son  wab  in  metifthm  l^^gtt, 
Whett  ftttm  sifer  they  saw  the  hmnbfef  wiifls, 
And  the  few  scatleT'd  bo^agM,  Which  now 
The  Roman  poWr  has  eqixaH'4  With  thte  tjlotids";  ^ 

But  such  was  then  Brknd^rli  scant  domttin, 
"fhey  steer  to  shore,  krtd  hasten  to  the  iown. 

It  chaneM  th'  Area^ttSM  ttiotiardi  dn  thftt  dUKjty 
Before  the  wails,  bendath  a  shady  ^6V%, 
W«»«elebrttt^g  high,  in  ioltfitM  ibfte/t, 
Alcidei  and  his  tutelary  gods. 
Pallas,  his  son,  Wfts  there,  aad  there  the  otrtef 
Of  all  his  youth  5  wk^  these,  a  Wotthy  tribe, 
His  poor  but  Yeuerable  sen&te,  bumt 
Sweet  incense,  and  theit  altars  smok'd  %lth 'bicrod. 
Soon  as  t3i6y  iMiw  ^e  tow*rhtg  inftsts  apt^Mtich, 
Sliding  between  the  Ireefs,  ^tMU  the  creW  fdiTt 
Upon  their  silent  olun,  luAaked  they  rMe, 
Not  without  fear,  and  iill.^brsook  the  feast. 
But  Palhui^  undismayed,  his  ]at*nti  iieit'd, 
Rush'd  to  the  bank,  and  from  n  tifsmg'  grotttid 
Forbad  them  to  di^tutb  ^^  Wttod  rites. 
"  Ye  titnaget  youth  I  WlUit  prompts  you  to  63cpldlfe 
This  untried  way  ?  and  lather  do  yt  ntb^  f 
Whence,  and  Who  are  ye  ?  Brtng  ye  peace  or  irtit  ?*. 
iEaeas  from  his  bfty  deek  holds  fbrth 
The  peaceftil  cdive^braneh,  and  ihus  Yeplies : 
**  Trojans,  and  enemies  to  the  Latian  state, 
Whom  they  whh  unprovok'd  hostilities 
Have  driv'n  away^  thou  Me*st.    We  seek  Etander— 

Vol.  III.  8 


iS         TRANSLATION  FROM  VlROlf . 

Bmy  tbif — and  lay,  besides,  the  Trojan  chiefii 

Are  eome,  and  seek  his  friendship  and  his  aid." 

PaHms  with  wonder  heard  that  awful  name, 

And  "  whosoe'er  thou  art,"  he  cried,  *^  come  forth  ; 

Bear  thine  own  tidings  to  my  Father's  ear, 

And  be  a  weUuime  guest  beneath  our  roof." 

He  said,  and  press'd  the  strai^r  to  his  breast : 

Then  led  him  from  the  river  to  the  grove, 

Where,  courteous,  thus  JEneaa  greets  the  king : 

^  Best  of  the  Grecian  race,  to  whom  I  bow 

(So  wills  my  fortune)  suppliant,  and  stretch  fotih 

In  sign  of  amity  this  peaceful  branch. 

I  fear'd  thee  not,  although  I  knew  thee  well 

A  Grecian  leader,  bom  in  Arcady, 

And  kinsman  of  th'  Atridas.    Me  my  virtue, 

That  means  no  wrong  to  thee — ^the  Oracles, 

Our  kindred  families  allied  of  old, 

And  thy  renown  diffus'd  through  ey'ry  land, 

Have  all  conspired  to  bind  in  friendship  to  thee, 

And  send  me  not  unwilling  to  thy  shores. 

Dardanus  author  of  the  Trojan  state, 

(So  say  the  Greeks,)  was  fur  Electxa's  son ; 

Electra  boasted  Atlas  for  her  sire, 

Whose  shoulders  high  sustain  th'  ethereal  orbs. 

Your  sire  is  Mercury,  whom  Maia  bore, 

Sweet  Maia,  on  Cyllene's  hoary  top. 

Her,  if  we  credit  aught  tradition  old, 

AUaa  of  yore,  the  self-same  Atlas,  claim'd 

His  daughter.    Thus  united  close  in  blood, 

Thy  race  and  ours  one  common  ure  confess. 

With  these  credentials  fraught,  I  would  not  send 

Ambassadon^  with  artful  phrase  to  sound, 

And  win  thee  by  degrees— but  came  myself— 

Me,  therefore,  me  thou  see'st ;  my  life  the  stake 

'TIS  I,  JEnoas,  who  implore  thine,  aid. 

Should  Daunia,  that  now  aims  the  blow  at  thee, 

Prevail  to  conquer  us,  nought  then,  they  tliinl 

Wjl)  Kinder,  but  Hesperia  must  be  theirs, 


J 


TRANSLATION  FROM  VIRGIL.  87 

All  theirs,  from  th*  upper  to  the  nether  sea. 
Take  then  our  friendship,  and  return  us  thine. 
We  too  have  courage,  we  have  noble  minds, 
And  youth  well  tried,  and  ezercis*d  in  arms." 

Thus  spoke  JEneas — He  with  fix'd  regard 
Burvey*d  him  speaking,  features,  form,  and  mien. 
Then  briefly  thus — "  Thou  noblest  of  thy  name, 
How  gladly  do  I  take  thee  to  my  heart, 
How  gladly  thus  confess  thee  for  a  friend ; 
In  thee  I  trace  Anchises ;  his  thy  speech. 
Thy  voice,  thy  count'nance.    For  I  well  rememboi 
Many  a  day  since,  when  Priam  journey 'd  forth 
To  Salamis,  to  see  the  land  where  dwelt 
Hesione,  his  sister,  he  pushed  on 
E'en  to  Arcadia's  frozen  bounds.    Twas  then 
The  bloom  of  youth  was  glowing  on  my  cheek  ; 
Much  I  admired  the  Trojan  chiefs,  and  much 
Their  king,  the  son  of  great  Laomedon, 
But  most  Anchises,  tow'ring  o'er  them  all. 
A  youthful  longing  seiz'd  me  to  accost 
The  hero,  and  embrace  him ;  I  drew  near, 
And  gladly  led  him  to  the  walls  of  Pheneus. 
Departing,  he  distinguish'd  me  with  gifts, 
A  costly  quiver  stored  with  Lycian  darts, 
A  robe  inwove  with  gold,  with  gold  emboss'd, 
Two  bridles,  those  which  Pallas  uses  now. 
The  friendly  league  thou  hast  solicited 
I  give  thee  therefore,  and  to-morrow  oil 
My  chosen  youth  shall  wait  on  your  return. 
Meanwliile,  since  thus  in  friendship  ye  are  come, 
Rejoice  with  us,  and  join  to  celebrate 
These  annual  rites,  which  may  not  be  delay'd, 
And  be  at  once  familiar  at  our  board.'* 

He  said,  and  bade  replace  the  fbast  removed ; 
Himself  upon  a  grassy  bank  disposed 
The  crew,  but  for  ^neas  order'd  forth 
A  couch,  spread  with  a  lion's  tawny  shag. 
And^bade  him  share  the  honours  of  his  throno. 


J8  TRANSLATION  FEOM  VIRQILu 

Th'  appointed  youth  with  glad  alacrity 
Assist  the  laboring  priest  to  load  the  board 
With  roasted  entrails  of  the  slaughtered  beevos^ 
Well  kneaded  bread  and  mantling  bowls.  Well  pl«a9*d 
JEneas  and  the  Trojan  youth  regale 
On  the  huge  length  of  a  woU-p&itar'd  chine. 
Hunger  appeased,  and  tables  all  despatched* 
Thus  spake  £yander :  "  Superstitioi^  Iiere, 
In  this  our  solemn  feasting,  has  no  part. 
No,  Trojan  friend,  from  utmost  danger  anty'di 
In  gratitude  this  worship  we  renew. 
Behold  that  rock  which  nods  above  the  vale. 
Those  bulks  of  broken  stone  dispars'd  around^ 
How  desolate  the  shattered  cave  appears, 
And  what  a  ruin  spreads  th'  encumber'd  plain. 
Within  this  pile,  but  far  within,  was  once 
The  den  of  Cacus ;  dire  his  hateful  form, 
That  shunned  the  day,  half  monster  and  iialf  man. 
Blood  newly  shed  streamed  ever  on  the  ground 
Smoking,  and  many  a  visage  pale  and  wan 
Nail'd  at  his  gate,  hung  hideous  to  the  sight. 
Vulcan  begot  the  brute :  vast  was  his  size, 
And  from  his  throat  he  belched  hb  father's  fire*. 
But  the  day  C9.me  Uiat  brought  us  what  we  wish*d| 
Th'  assistance  and  the  presence  of  9.  God. 
Flush'd  with  his  vict'ry  ai>d  the  spoils  he  won 
From  triple-form'd  Geryon,  lately  slain, 
The  great  avenger,  Hercules  appear'd. 
Hither  he  drove  his  stately  bulls,  and  pour*d 
His  herds  along  the  vale.    But  Uie  sly  thief 
Cacus,  that  notlnng  might  escape  his  hand 
Of  villany  or  fraud,  drove  from  the  stalls 
Four  of  the  lordliest  of  his  buUs,  and  four 
The  fairest  of  his  heifers;  by  ihe  tail 
He  dragged  them  to  lus  den,  and  there  conceII*4| 
No  footstep  might  betray  the  dark  abode. 
And  now  his  herd  with  provender  sufficed 
Alcides  would  be  gone  ;  they  as  they  went 


TRANSLATION  FROM  VIRGIL.         i 
Still  bellowingr  lood,  made  the  deep  echoing  woodi^ 
And  distant  hills  resound :  when  hark !  one  oz. 
Imprison'd  close  within  the  vast  recess, 
Lows  in  return,  and  frustrates  all  his  hope* 
Then  fury  seiz'd  Alcides,  and  his  breast 
With  indignation  heav'd ;  grasping  his  club 
Of  knotted  oak,  swift  to  the  mountain  top 
He  ran,  he  flew.    Then  first  was  Cacus  seo» 
To  tremble,  and  hia  eyes  bespoke  his  fears. 
Swift  as  an  eastern  blas^  he  sought  his  den^ 
.And  dread  increaslag,  wing'd  him  as  he  wenL 
Drawn  up  in  iron  slings  above  the  gate  . 
A  rock  was  hung  enormous.    Such  his  haste, 
He  burst  the  chains,  and  dropp'd  it  at  the  door, 
Then  grappled  it  with  iron  work  within 
Of  bolts  and  bars  by  Vulcan's  art  contriv'd. 
Scarce  was  he  fast,  when  panting  for  revenge 
Came  Hercules ;  he  gnashed  his  teeth  with  rage. 
And  quick  as  lightning  glanc'd  his  eyee  u^und 
In  quest  of  entrance.     Fiery  red,  and  stin^ 
With  indignation,  thrice  he  wheeFd  his  course 
About  the  mountain ;  thrice,  but  thrice  in  vainy  . 
He  strove  to  force  the  quarry  at  the  gate,    . 
And  thrice  sat  down  overwearied  in  the  vale.  - 
There  stood  a  pointed  rock,  abrupt  and  rude  .  ^ 
That  high  o'erlook'd  the  rest,  close  at  the  bock     . 
Of  the  fell  monster's  den,  where  birds  .obscene  . 
Of  ominous  note  resorted,  choughs  and  daws. 
This,  as  it  lean'd  obliquely  to  the  left. 
Threatening  the  stream  below,  he  fvom  the  righi 
Push'd  with  his  utmost  strength,  and  to  and  fro 
He  shook  the  mass,  loos'ning  its  lowest  base ; 
Then  shov'd  it  from  its  seat ;  down  fell  the  pile  i 
Sky  thunder'd  at  the  fall ;  the  banks  give  way, 
Th'  affrighted  stream  flows  upward  to  his  source 
Behold  the  kennel  of  the  brute  expos'd, 
The  gloomy  vault  laid  open.    So,  if  chance 
8» 


90  TRANSLATION  FliOM  ViaG^L.- 

£arth  yawning  to  the  centre  should  disclose 

The  mansions,  the  pale  mansions  of  the  dead; 

LoathM  by  the  Gods,  such  would  the  gulf  appear, 

And  the  ghosts  tremble  at  the  sight  of  day. 

The  monster  braying  ynih  unusual  din 

Within  his  hollow  lair,  and  sore  amaz'd 

To  lee  such  sudden  inroads  of  the  light, 

Alcides  press'd  him  close  with  wh^t  at  hand 

Lay  readiest,  gtumps  of  trees,  and  fnigments  huge 

Of  millstone  size.    He,  (for  escape  was  none) 

Wondrous  to  tell !  forth  from  his  gorge  discharged 

A  smoky  cloud  that  darkenM  all  the  den ; 

Wreath  after  iirreath  he  vomited  amain 

The  smoth'ring  yapQur,  mix'd  with  fiery  sparks. 

No  sight  could  penetrate  the  yeil  obsQUre. 

The  hero,  inore  provoked,  endur*d  not  this, 

But,  with  a  hea(U(>ng  leap,  he  rushed  to  where 

The  thickest  cloud  envelop'd  his  abode. 

There  grasp'd  he  Cacijs,  spite  of  all  his  fires, 

Till  crtisUjkwithin  his  arms,  the  monster  shows 

His  bloo^ra  throat,  now  dry  "with  panting  hard. 

And  his  prei^s'd  eyeballs  start.    Soon  he  tear?  dowi;i 

The  barricade  of  rock ;  the  dark  .abyss 

Lies  open,  and  th'  imprisoned  bulls,  the  theft 

He  had  with  oaths  denied,  are  brought  to  ligfhi: 

By  th'  heels  the  miscreant  carcass  is  dragged  fojth. 

His  face,  his  eyes,  all  terrible,  his  breast 

Beset  with  bristles,  and  his  sooty  jaws 

Are  view'd  with  ponder  never  to  be  cloy'4. 

Hence  the  celebrity  thou  seest,  and  hence 

This  festal  day,  Potitius  first  enjoinM 

Posterity  these  solemn  rites,  he  first 

With  those  who  bear  the  great  Pinar^an  nuae 

To  Hercules  devoted,  in  the  grove 

This  altar  built,  deem'd  sacred  in  ihe  highest 

By  us,  and  sacred  ever  to  be  deepi'd. 

Come  then,  my  fnends,  and  bind  your  yotttfafi^  broiii^ 


J 


TRANSLATION  FROM  VIRGIL  91 

In  praise  of  such  deliv'rance,  and  hold  forth 
The  brunmiiig  cup :  your  deHies  and  ouri 
Are  now  the  same ;  then  drink,  and  freely  too. 
So  saying,  he  twisted  round  his  rer'rend  lofkm 
A  variegated  poplair  wrettth,  and  fiU*d 
His  right  hand  with  a  consecrated  bold. 
At  once  all  pour  libations  on  the  board.  * 

All  o£fer  pray'r.    And  now  the  radiant  fiph^te 
Of  day  descending,  eventide  drew  near. 
When  first  Potitius  with  the  priests  advano^d, 
Begirt  with  skins,  and  torches  in  th^  hands. 
High  pUed  with  meats  <^sav'ry  taste,  they  ranged 
The  chargers,  and  renewed  the  grat^ul  feast. 
Then  came  the  Salii,  crowned  with  poplar  too 
Circling  the  blazing  altars ;  here  the  youth 
Advanced,  a  choir  harmonious ;  there  were  heard 
The  reverend  seers  respoauive ;  praipe  the j  song, 
Much  pr^se  in  honour  of  Alcides'  deeds ; 
How  first,  with  inBixA  gripe,  two  serpents  huge 
He  strangled,  sent  firam  Juno ;  next  ihey  sung, 
How  Troja  and  the  Oechalia  he  destroyed, 
Fair  cities  both,  and  many  a  toilsome  task 
Beneath  Eurystheus,  (so  his  step-dame  will'd) 
Achiev'd^fictorious.    Thou,  the  eloud-bom  pMT, 
HyUeu*  ^elroe  and  Pholos,  moivtrous  twins, 
Thou  alew*8t  the  Minotaur,  the  plague  of  Crete, 
And  the  vast  Ikm  «f  the  Nemean  rook* 
Thee  HeU,  and  Cerberus,  Hell's  porter,  feared, 
Stretch'd  in  his  den  upon  his  ha]f-gnaw*d  bones. 
Thee  no  abhorred  iferm,  not  e*en  the  vast 
Typhoeus  could  appal,  though  clad  in  arms. 
Hail,  true  bom  son  ^  Jove,  among  the  Gods 
At  length  enrolled,  nor  least  illustrious  thou, 
Haste  thee  propitious,  and  approve  our  songs ;" 
Thus  hymn'd  the  chorus ;  above  all  they  idng 
The  cave  of  Cacus,  and  the  flaines  he  breath'd. 
.The  whol»  grov«  echoes,  and  the  hills  rebound. 


92     .     TRANSLATION  FROM  VIRGIL. 

The  rites  performed  all  hasten  to  tlie  town. 
The  king,  bending  with  age,  held  as  he  went 
Eneas  and  his  Pallas  by  the  hand, 
Vith  much  vaiioty  of  pleasing  l;alk         .    ^ 
Short'ning  the  way.    ^neas,  with  a  smile, 
Lodks  round  hira,  charm'd  with  the  delightful  scent 
And  many  a  question  asks,  and  muph  he  learns 
Of  heroes  far  renown'd  in  ancient  times. 
Then  spake  Evander.    These  extensive  groves^ 
Were  once  inhabited  by  ^wns  and  nymphs 
Produced  beneath  their  shades,  and  a  rude  rac0 
if  men,  the  progeny  uncouth.of  elms 
And  knotted  oaks.    They  no  refinement  knew 
Of  laws  or  manners  civilized,  to  yoke 
The  steer,  with  forecast  provident  to  store 
TJie  hoarded' grain,  or  manage  what  they  had, 
tint  browsed  like  beasts  upoh  the  leafy  bougbii, 
Or  fed  voracious  on  their  hunted  prey. 
An  exile  from  Olympus,  and  expell'd 
His  native  realm  by  thunder-bearing  Jove, 
First  Saturn  came.    He  &om  the  mountains  drew 
This  herd  of  men  untraciable  and  fietce, 
Ad  gave  them  laws ;  and  called  his  hidingi>lace| 
nis  growth  of  forests,  Latiun^.     Such  the  p6ac« 
His  land  possessed,  the  golden  age  was  then, 
So  fam'd  in  story  ;  till  by  dow  degrees 
Far  other  times,  and  of  far  diff  rent  hue, 
Succeeded  thirst  of  gold  and  thirst  of  blood. 
Then  came  Auaoman  bands,  andaj-med  Hosts 
From  Sicily,  and  Latium  often  changed 
Her  master  and  her  name.    At  length  aro^O 
Kings,  of  whom  Tibris  of  gigantick  form      - 
Was  chief,  and  we  Italians  since  have  call'd 
The  river  by  his  name  ;  thus  Albuk, 
(So  was  the  country  call'd'in  ancient  days) 
Was  quite  forgot.    Me  from  my  native  land 
An  exile,  thro'  the  dang 'reus  ocean  driv'Sf 


J 


=?ac: 


TRANSLAIION  FROM  VIRGIL.       .  93 

'  Resistless  fprtune  an<l  relentless  fate 
Placed  where  thou  see'pt  me.    Fhcebus,  and 
The  nymph  Carmentis,  with  maternal  care, 
Attendant  on  my  wand'rlngs,  fix'd  me  here. 

{Ten  lines  omitted.} 

He  said,  and  show'd  him  the  Tarpeian  rock, 
And  the  rode  spot,  where  now  the  capitol 
Stands  all  magnificent  and  bright  with  gold, 
Then  overgrown  with  thorns;    And  yet  e*en  then 
The  swains  beheld  that  sacred  scene  with  awe  ; 
The  grove,  the  rock,  inspired  religious  fear. 
This  grove,  he  said,  that  crowns  the  lolly  top 
Of  this  fair  hill,  some  deity,  we  know, 
Inhabits,  but  what  deity  we  doubt. 
Th'  Arcadians  speak  of  Jupiter  himself. 
That  they  have  often  seen  him,  shaking  here 
His  gloomy  £gis,  while  the  thunder-storms 
Came  rolling  all  around  him.    Turn  thy  eyes, 
Behold  that  ruin ;  those  dismantled  walls, 
Where  once  two  towns,  laniculum — 
By  Janus  this,  and  that  by  Saturn  built, 
Satumia.    Such  discourse  brought  them  bencat^ 
The  roof  of  poor  Evander,  thence  they  saw^  ^ 

Where  now.tne  proud  and  stotely  foruni  stands, 
The  grazing  herds  wide  scatter'd  o'er  the  field. 
Soon  as  he  entered — Hercules,  he  said. 
Victorious  Hercules,  on  this  threshold  trod, 
These  walls  contaiu'd  him,  humble  as  they  ara 
Dare  to  despise  n^agn^ficence^  my  friend, 
Prove  thy  divine  descent  by  worth  divine, 
Nor  view  with  haughty  scorn  this  mean  abode. 
So  saying,  he  led  JEneas  by  the  hand. 
And  placM  h^m  on  a  cushion  stuflfd  with  ieavet, 
Spread  with  th9  skin  of  a  Libistian  bear. 

[TAe  Episode  of  Ventis  and  Videan  ondtt4d\ 


H  TRANSLATION  FROM  OV.B. 

While  thus  in  Lemnos  Vulcan  was  employed 
Awakened  bj  the  gontle  dawn  of  day, 
And  the  shrill  song  of  birds  beneath  the  eayei 
Of  his  low  mansion,  old  Evander  rose. 
His  tunick,  and  the  sandals  on  his  feet, 
And  his  good  sword  well-girded  to  his  side, 
A  panther's  skin  dependent  from  his  left. 
And  over  his  right  shoulder  thrown  aslant, 
Thus  was  he  clad.     Two  mastiffs  follo^ved  him, 
His  whole  retinue  and  his  nightly  guard. 


OVID.  TRIST.  LIB.  V.  ELEG.  XII 

ScribiSy  ut  oblectem, 

Tou  bid  me  write  t'amuse  the  tedious  hours, 
And  save  from'with'ring  my  poetick  pow'rs. 
Hard  is  the  task,  my  friend,  for  verse  should  fioir 
From  the  free  mind,  not  fettcr'd  down  by  wo ; 
Restless  amidst  unceasing  tempests  tost. 
Whoever  has  cause  for  sorrow,  I  have  most. 
Would  you  bid  Priam  laugh,  his  sons  all  slain^ 
Or  childless  Niobe  from  tears  refrain,  • 
Join  the  gay  dance,  and  lead<the  festive  train  i 
Does  grief  or  study  most  befit  the  mind, 
To  this  remote,  this  barb'rous  nook  confined? 
Could  you  in^rt  to  my  unshaken  breast, 
The  fortitude  by  Socrates  possessed. 
Soon  would  it  sink  beneath  such  woes  as  mine, 
For  what  is  human  strength  to  wrath  divme  ? 
Wise  as  he  was,  and  Heav'n  pronounc'd  him  so^ 
My  sufferings  would  have  laid  that  wisdom  low. 
Could  I  forget  ray  country,  thee  and  all. 
And  e'en  th'  offence  to  whicH  I  owe  my  fall. 


i 


TRANSLATION  FROM  OVID.  dft 

let  foar  alone  would  freeze  the  poet's  vein, 
While  hostile  troops  swarm  o'er  the  drearj  plain 
Add  that  the  fatal  rust  of  long  disuse 
Dnfits  me  fbr  the  serrice  of  the  muse. 
Thistles  and  weeds  are  all  we  can  expect 
From  the  best  soil  impoY^isM  by  neglect ; 
Unexercised,  and  to  his  stall  confined, 
The  fleetest  racer  would  be  left  behind ; 
The  best  built  bark  that  cleaves  the  wat*ry  way, 
Laid  useless  by,  would  moulder  and  decay — 
No  hope  remains  that  time  shall  me  restore, 
Mean  as  I  was,  to  what  I  was  before. 
Think  how  a  series  of  desponding  cares 
Benumbs  the  genius,  and  its  force  impiurs. 
How  oft,  as  now  on  thb  devoted  sheet, 
My^verse  constrained  to  move  with  measur'd  feety 
Reluctant  and  laborious  limps  along, 
And  proves  itself  a  wretched  exile^s  song. 
What  is  it  tuner  the  most  melodious  lays  ? 
*TiB  emulation  and  the  thirst  of  praise, 
A  noble  thirst,  and  not  unknown  to  me, 
While  smootUy  wafted  on  a  calmer  sea. 
But  can  a  wretch  Hke  Ovid  pant  for  fame  r 
No,  rather  let  the  world  forget  flay  name. 
Is  it  because  that  world  i^prov'd  my  strain, 
Tou  prompt  me  to  the  same  pursuit  again  ? 
No,  let  the  Nine  th'  ungrateful  truth  excuse, 
..  charge  my  hopeless  ruin  on  the  Muse, 
And,  like  Perillus,  meet  my  just  desert, 
The  victim  of  my  own  pernidous  art. 
Fool  that  I  was,  to  be  00  wam'd  in  vain, 
And  shipwrecked  once  to  tempt  the  deep  agaia 
•  111  fares  the  bard  in  this  unletter'd  land, 
None  to  consult,  and  none  to  understand.  • 
The  purest  verse  has  no  admirers  here, 
Tneir  own  rude  language  only  suits  their  ear. 
Rude  as  it  is,  at  length  familiar  grown, 
I  learn  it,  and  almost  unlearn  mv  own:— 


96  A  TALE,  FOUNDED  ON  I* AC*. 

Yet  to  say  trath,  e^em  bete  iht  lilttse  ili«te^ 
Coniunneiit,  and  ntiempiB  lier  fbhxi^  «fHkii^ 
But  finds  tho  strong  desire  is  net  the  pcyw^r^ 
And  what  her  taste  condemhi,  the  H^taei  den^W. 
A  parti  perh&ps,  Ifte-tMs,  etioiipbh  ^  #6oifi^ 
And  tbo'  mnrorthj,  finds  *  IHend  at  RoiA«i. 
But  oh  the  cmel  art,  thai  eetdd  undo 
Its  ▼0t*r7  thus,  wooM  th^t  coola  pfbikh  «ol» . 


A  TALEi 
FOUNDSD  ON  A  FACT. 

WHICH  UAPP£li£D  I»  JAJfUARY,  1700. 

Whers  Hvnher  ^vttit  feos  rich  coiomeEetitl  streMi> 

There  dwelt  a  wretch  who  tereatii'd  biit  to  Waipheua 

In  snbterraneoni  eaVes  fafai  iiie  he  led^ 

Black  as  the  inme  in  which  he  wroa^t  fyr  focead. 

When  on  ft  day  enie#f  iii^  ^tom  the  decf>, 

A  sabbath-day,  (such  eabbatiks  thousands  kmp !) 

The  wages  of  his  wc^ly  toil  he  bore 

To  buy  a  cock— %hose  Wood  nng ht  win  hka  Btore  • 

As  if  the  noblest  6f  the  feither'd  Idhd 

Were  but  for  binttle  and  fbr  death  de^gla'd ', 

As  if  the  consecrated  hours  were  meant 

For  sport,  to  ihhids  on  crusty  intent ; 

It  chanc'd  (suCh  ohanees  Providence  d)ey) 

Ho  met  a  feUoW-roib'rer  on  the  way^ 

\^ose  heart  the  same  desires  had  dime  liifiaBi'd  ) 

But  now  the  savage  temper  was  recJaiiUVL 


J 


A  TALE,  FOUNI^D  ON  FACT.  97 

Persuasioa  on  bis  lips  had  taken  place ; 
For  all  plead  well,  wbo  plead  the -eause  of  graee. 
Hifl  iron-heart  ^th  scripture  he  tssail'd, 
Woo'4  him  to  hear  a  sersioii)  and  prevailed 
His  &ithfiil  bow  the  mighty  preacher  drew, 
Swift,  ap  llie  Mghtnkig-gUm^,  the  atrow.  fiem 
He  wept ;  he  trembled ;  east  his  eyes  around, 
To  find  a  worse  than  he ;  but  none  he  found. 
He  felt  his  sins,  and  wonder'd  he  should  feel, 
Grac*  Made  the  wound^  and  gif»oe  alcme  coitld  held. 

Now  farewell  oaths,  and  blasphemies,  and  UiM ! 
He  quits  the  sinner's  for  the  martyr's  prize. 
That  holy  day  wMeh  wash'd  with  m«cny  a  tear,    • 
Gilded  witii  hope,  yet  shaded  too  by  fW. 
The  next,  his  swartiiy  brirttoen  of  the  mine 
Leam'd,  by  his  alter'd  speech — ^the  changfo  diyine ! 
Laugh'd  when  they  idtotdd  hare  wept,  and  swore  thd 

day 
Was  nigh,  when  he  would  aw^ar  as  :fiat  as  they. 
"  No,  (said  the  penitent,)  such  words  shall  share 
This  breath  no  more  ;  devoted  now  to  pray*r. 
O  !  if  thou  see*8t  (thine  eye  the  future  sees) 
Thai  I  shall  yet  agaiu  blaspheme  like  these  ; 
Now  strike  me  to  Khe  ground  on  which  I  knsel. 
Ere  yet  this  heart  relapses  into  steel ; 
Now  take  me  to  that  HesTi^n  I  <mce  defied, 
Thy  presence,  thy  embnuse  1"*— Hft  i^oke  «imI  ^iai  4 

ToL.  lit.  9 


(98) 

TRANSLATION 

or  A 

SIMILE  IN  PARADISE  LOST. 

IJime,  1780. 

**  S»  when^fr^m  mtumtmn  teps,  tfce  dusky  elemds 
*»  Jsemdingf  i^** 

QoalM  aerii  montis  do  Tertiee  nobes 

Cam  ■orgruiift,  et  jam  Borea  tamida  on.  qoieraiii, 

Coeliim  hilaxes  abdit,  ^«a  oaUgiae,  Taliaa : 

Tum  si  jueondo  tandem  sol  pro^teat  oxe, 

£t  croceo  montet  et  pascaa  lumina  tingat, 

Gaudent  omniai  ayes  muleent  concentibas  a^rroa, 

Balatiujoe  ^iviiun  coUes  Talleaqoe  resultant. 


TRANSLATION 

OF 

DRTDEPTS  EPIGRAM  ON  MILTON 

^  Three  Poets,  in  three  distoMt  ages  (om,  ^  ** 
[Jvly,  1780.] 

Tbss  tiia,  sed  longe  distantU,  soacnla  vates 
Ostentant  tribus  e  gentibns  ezimios 

Grecia  snblimem,  cmn  majestate  diseitmn 
Roma  tality  felix  Anglia  utiiqne  parem. 

Partiibos  ex  binis  Natora  exhausta,  coaeta  Mt^ 
Toitius  at  fierety  eonsooiaio  dooa. 


J 


(99) 
TO  THE  REV.  MR.  NEWTON 

on  BIS  KETVBN  FROM  RAMSOATX. 
[Oa.  1780.] 

That  ocean  yon  have  late  8arvej*d| 

Those  rocks  I  too  have  seeiiy 
Bat  I  afflicted  and  dlsmay'd. 

Ton  tranquil  and  serene. 

Von  frmn  the  flood^oatrolluif  steep  ^ 

Saw  stxe(ch*d  before  yonr  fwwy 

With  conscions  Joy,  the  thceat'ning  6mf^ 
No  longer  such  to  yon. 

To  me»  Hm  waves  that  oeasetoiv  brolw 

Upon  the  dang'roos  coast. 
Hoarsely  and  ominously  spoke 

Of  all  my  treasure  lost.  * 

» 
Tonr  sea  of  troubles  you  have  past. 

And  found  the  peaceful  shore ; 
I,  tempest  tosB'd,  and  wreck'd  at  hMly 

Come  home  to  port  no  more. 


LOVE  ABUSED. 

What  is  there  in  the  vale  of  llfb 
Half  so  delightful  as  a  wife, 
When  Inendship,  love,  and  peace  eombiat 
To  stamp  the  marriage  bond  divhie  ? 


100        AN  EPISTLE  TO  LADY  AUSTEK. 
The  stream  of  pure  and  geniune  loTe 
Derives  its  current  from  above  ; 
And  earth  a  second  Eden  shows. 
Wherever  the  healing  water  flows ; 
But  «b,  if  from  the  dykes  and  drains 
Of  sensual  nature's  fey'rish  yeins, 
Lust,  like  a  lawless  headstrong  flood. 
Impregnated  with  ooze  and  mud, 
Descending  fast  on  eyerj  mde, 
Once  mingles  with  the  sacred  tide, 
Farewell  the  s<uil-enliT*ning  scene  ! 
The  banks  that  w(»e  a  smiling  green. 
With  rank  defilement  overspread, 
^Bewail  their  flow'ry  beavties  deaJd. 
The  stream  polluted,  dark,  and  doll, 
Difiui'd  into  a  Stygian  po<d, 
Throogh  life's  last  raelanchc^  yean 
Is  fed  with  oyerflowing  toars : 
Compbints  supply  the  sepfayr's  part. 
And  sighs  that  heaye  a  breaking  heart. 


A  POETICAL  EPISTLE  TO  JJkDY 
AUSTEN. 

Dec.  17, 1781. 

DsAR  Arna— between  friend  and  &iend| 
Prose  answers  feyery  common  end ; 
Serves,  in  a  plain  tind  home^  vray, 
T*  express  th*  occurrence  of  the  day;- 
Our  health,  the  weather,  and  the  news  ; 
What  walks  we  take,  what  books  we  chooip. 
And  all  the  floating  thoughts  we  find 
Upon  the  surface  of  the  mind. 


AN  EPISTLE  TO  LADY  AUSTEN.      101 

But  when  a  poet  takes  the  pen, 
Far  mere  alive  than,  other  men, 
He  leek  a  gentle  tingling  come 
Down  to  his  finger  and  his  thmnb, 
DeriY'd  from  nature's  noblest  part, 
The  centre  of  a  glowing  heart : 
And  this  is  what  the  world,  who  knows 
No  flights  above  the  pitch  of  prose, 
His  mOTe  sublime  vagaries  slighting. 
Denominates  an  itch  for  writing. 
No  wonder  I,  who  scribble  rhjme 
To  catch  the  triflers  of  the  time, 
And  tell  them  truths  divine  and  clear, 
Which,  couch'd  in  prose,  they  will  not  htfar ; 
Who  labour  hard  to  allure  and  draw 
•     The  loiterers  I  never  saw, 

Should  f»*l  that  itching,  and  that  tingling 
With  all  my  purpose  intermingling, 
To  your  intrinsick  merit  true, 
When  call'd  t'  address  myself  to  you. 

Mysterious  are  his  ways,  whose  m^er 
Brings  forth  that  unexpected  homr 
When  minds,  that  never  met  before, 
Shall  meet,  unite,  and  part  no  more : 
It  is  the  allotment  of  the  skies, 
The  hand  of  the  Supremely  Wise, 
That  guides  and  governs  our  affections, 
And  plans  and  orders  our  connexions : 
Directs  us  in  our  distant  road, 
And  marks  the  bounds  of  our  abode. 
Thus  we\were  settled  when  you  found  us^  . 
Peasants  and  children  all  around  us, 
Not  dreaming  of  so  dear  a  friend, 
D^ep  in  the  abyss  of  Silver-End.* 

*  An  obscure  part  of  OIney,  adjoin&ig  to  the  resiOfenoe  oi 
Cowper,  which  faced  the  market-place 
9» 


m     All  HPISTLB  ro  LJtOT  Ami«N 

Thus  Martha,  e'em  ngtUnit  her  will. 
Ferch'd  on  tlie  top  of  yoa^r  h\Xi  ;■ 
And  yon,  thppglt  yoja  miMt  needs  jpiete 
•     The  fairest  acanee  of  sweet  SancenWy* 
Are  come  irom  distant  Xioire)  to  ^ofispt 
A  cottage  on  the  baidss  «f  Case. 
This  p«ge  of  Bro^rMei*ce  quite  nev* 
And  now  just  op'oisig'  to  imr  yjew,    ' 
Employs  our  present  tho^ghts  asid  f^Vt$ 
To  guess,  and  spell,  what  it  «oi^tidp(| ; 
But  day  by  day,  and  ye*^  by  yep^ 
Will  make  the  dark  enigma  oleaFi  ■'   • 
And  furnish  us,  perhap%  at  last, 
Like  other  scenes  already  p^ft, 
With  proof,  that  we,  aqd  eur  «fa¥iM| 
Are  part  of  a  Jehovah's  cares : 
For  €rod  umfokts,  by  slow  degjreep^ 
The  purport  of  his  deep  decreeai 
Sheds  every  hour  a  cleaver  hj^ 
In  aid  of  ov^  defective  sight;  - 
And  spreads  at  length  before  the  soul 
A  beautiful  and  perfeic^  vhok, 
Which  bunji  man'a  l^velltbr^  ^a^ii. 
Toils  to  antic^fLt^  in  v«vv 

Say,  Anna,  had  joi^«€^T^k^TO,  -   ., 
The  beauties  Ojf  4  rose  txijl  blowfti 
Could  you,  thoV^u^pwQUf!  yojuur  .ej% 
By  looki^  oju  the  hu^*  de«»y> 
Or  guess,  with  a  prop^etick  )^yf^h. 
The  future  splendour  (^  the  ^owctr^ 
Just  so,  th'  Omnipotent  who  turns 
The  system  of  a  world*s  conoemSi 
From  mere  minutisB  can  educe 
Events  of  most  important  use  ; 
And  bid  a  dawning  sky  display 
The  blaze  of  a  meridian  day. 

'*  Lady  Austen's  residence  in  France 


J 


AH  SriSTLE  TO  LADT  AU8T£N.      103 
Th0  wodu  of  man  tend,  on*  axkd  all, 
As  needs  they  must,  from  great  to  nnall , 
And  VAoky  abeorlM.  at  length . 
The  monuments  of  human  strength. 
But  who  oaa  tell  how  vaet  the  plan 
Which  this  day's  incident  began ! 
Too  small)  perhaps,  the  slight  oeoasioni 
For  our  dim-sighted  ol^ervatio|^  j 
It  pass'd  unnotic'd,  as  the  bird 
That  cleave^  the  yielding  air  uiiheard. 
And  yet  may  prove,  when  understood. 
An  harbinger  of  endless  good. 

Not  that  I  d^em,  or  mean  to  call 
Friendship  a  blessing  cheap  or  small . 
But  merely  to  remark,  that  ours. 
Like  some  of  nature's  sweetest  flowercl| 
Rose  from  a  seed  of  tiny  size. 
That  seem'd  to  promise  no  such  prize  j 
A  transient  visit  intervening. 
And  made  almost  without  a  meaning, 
(Hardly  the  eflfect  of  inclination, 
Much  less  of  pleasing  expectation,) 
Produc'd  a  friendship,  then  begun,' 
That  has  cemented  us  in  one ; 
And  plac'd  it  in"  our  pow'r  to  pr6v0, 
By  long  fidelity  and  love,  '  '  • 

That  Solomon  has  wisely  spok<6n  : 
"  A  threefold  cord  is  not  soon  hrokeiL*^ 


^^"j  ..  j»C^-'"'^Ug  XjlI^-      "-I-^^^-^ 


uHivi; 


<104) 

FROM  A  LETTER  TO  THE  REV.  MR.  NEWTON 

Late  Rector  of  at.  Maty  Woolnoik 

PatedMay2d,1782.] 

Bays  the  pipe  to  tho  snuff-boX|  I  can't  understand 
What  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  see  m  your  faoB 

That  you  are  in  fashion  all  over  the  land, 
And  I  am  so  much  fallen  into  disgrace. 

Do  but  see  what  a  pretty  contemplative  air 

I  give  to  the  company — pray  clo  but  npte  'em-^ 
Ton  woold  think  that  the  wise  men  of  Greece  were  iD 
there, 
Oti  at  least,  would  suppose  them  the  wise  men  of 
Gotham. 

My  breath  is  as  sweet  as  the  breath  of  blown  roses, 
While  you  are  a  nuisance  where'er  you  appear ; 

There  is  nothing  but  sniv'ling  and  blowing  of  noses, 
Sueh  a  noise  as  turns  any  man's  ston^u^h  to  bear. 

Then  lifting  his  lid  in  a  delicate  way, 

^And  op'ning  his  mouth  with  a  smile  quite  engaging 
The  box  in  reply  was  heard  plainly  to  say,. 
What  a  silly  dispute  is  this  we  are  waging ! 

If  you  have  a  little  of  merit  to  claim, 

fou  may  thank  the  sweet-smelling  Virginian  weed 
And  I,  if  I  seem  to  deserve  any  blame, 

The  before-mentioned  drug  in  apology  plead. 

Thus  neither  the  praise  nor  the  blame  is  our  own^ 

No  room  for  a  sneer,  much  less  a  cachinnus, 
We  are  vehicles,  not  of  tobacco  alone, 
,   But  of  any  thing  else  they  may  choose  to  put  in  us 


J 


-      £106) 
THE  COLUBRUP 

Closm  by  the  thfealioUL  of  x  dooz  ivul'd  fatA, 

Three  kitt4MHi  sat :  each  kitten  looked  aghafir 

I  passing  swift^  and  iuattenture  bj^ 

At  the  three  kittens  cast  a  careless  eje ; 

Not  mach  concerned  to  know  what  they  did  there ; 

Not  deeming  kittens  worth  a  poet's  care. 

But  presently  a4oad  and  furious  hiss 

Caus'd  me  to  stop,  and  to  excUdm  '*  what*s  this  ?" 

When  lo !  upon  the  threshold  met  n^  view, 

With  head  erect,  and  eyes  of  fiery  hue, 

A  vipAr,  long  as  Count  de  Grasse's  queue. 

Forth  from  his  head  his  forked  tongue  he  throws. 

Darting  it  full  against  a  kitten's  nose ; 

Who,  hayrag  neyer  seen,  in  field  <Hr  house, 

The  Uke,  sat  still  and  stlent  as  a  mouse : 

Only  projecting,  with  attention  due, 

Her  whisker'd  face,  she  ask'd  him,  "  who  are  yov 

On  to  the  hall  went  I,  with  pace  not  slow, 

Bot  swift  as  lightning,  for  a  long  Dutch  hoe  i 

With  which,  well  arm'd  1  hastened  to  the  spot. 

To  find  the  viper,  but  I  found  him  not. 

And  turning  up  the  leaves  and  shrubs  around. 

Found  only,  that  he  was  not  to  be  found. 

Bat  still  the  Idttens  sitting  as  before. 

Sat  watching  close  the  bottom  of  the  door 

« I  hope,"  said  I, « the  villain  1  would  kill, 

Has  slipped  between  the  door,  and  the  door's  Sill  j 

And  if  I  mako  despatch,  and  follow  hard, 

No  doubt  but  I  shall  find  him  in  the  yiutd  :** 

For  long  ere  now  it  should  have  been  rohear8*4« 

Twas  in  the  garden  that  I  found  him  first. 


106  ON  ItllEfNDSHIP. 

Ev*n  thoro  1  foond  him,  thero  the  fVill-growii  oat 

Hia  head,  with  Telyet  paw,  did  gently  pat ; 

Aa  curious  as  the  kittens  erst  had  been 

To  leam  what  this  phenomenon  might  mean. 

Fill'd  with  heroick  ardour  at  the  sight, 

And  fearing  every  moment  he  would  MtOi 

And  rob  our  household  of  our  only  cat, 

That  was  of  age  to  combat  with  a  rat ; 

With  out8tf«tefa*d  hoe  Tslew  him  at  the  door, 

And  taught  him  neter  to  come  there  ho  more 


ON  FRIENDSHIP. 

Amicitia  fiisi  Inter  bonos  esse  non  potest. . . .  Cicero 

[1782.] 

What  virtue  can  we  name,  or  grace. 
But  men  unqualified  and  base 

Will  boost  it  their  possession  ^ 
Profusion  apes  the  noble  port 
*     Of  liberality  of  heart, 

And  dulness  of  discretloio. 

But  as  the  gem  of  richest  cost " 
Is  ever  counterfeited  most, 

So,  always,  imitation 
Employs  the  utmost  skill  she  can 
To  counterfeit  the  faithful  man, 

The  friend  of  long  duration. 

Some  wSi  pronounce  me  too  severe— 

But  long  experience  speaks  me  clear ; 

Therefore  that  censure-  scomin;|^| 


ON  FRIBNDSHIP.  m 

1  wiU  proeeed  to  mark  the  «belv#ai 
On  wUch  so  muiy  dash  tUem|«lve«, 
And  give  the  sirople  yraning. 

Tenth,  nnadmoniih'd  by  a  guide, 
Will  trust  to  teoj  &ir  outside : 

An  errour  soon  corrected ; 
For  whO|  but  learns,  wit]*  riper  years^ 
That  man,  when  smoothest  he  appeaniy 

Is  most  to  be  suq>ected  I  , 

But  here  agiin  a  danger  lies 
Lest,  thus  deluded  byonjr  eyes, 

And  taking  trash  for  treasure, 
We  should,  when  undeceiy'd,  eonolado 
Friendship,  inutginary  good, 

A  mere  Utopian  pleasure.  . 

An  acquisition,  rather  rare, 
Is  yet  no  subject  of  despair  ; 

Nsr  should  it  seem  distressful, 
Neither  on  forbidden  ground, 
Or,  where  it  was  not  to  be  found. 

We  sought  it  unsuccessful. 

Kb  fHendship  will  abide  the  test 
That  stands  on  sordid  interest 

And  mean  self-lovo  6r«n>««u 
Nor  such,  as  may  awhile  subsist 
Twizt  sensuaHst  and  sensualist, 

For  yicious  ends  connected. 

Who  hopes  a  friend,  should  have  a  hearty     • 
Himself,  well  fumish'd  for  the  part, 

And  ready  on  occasion 
To  show  the  virtue  that  he  seeks ; 
Tfur  'tis  lUi  union  that  bespeaks 

A  just  reciprocation. 


igS  fEIfiKDSHlP. 

A  fretful  iMttftt  wUl  diTidB 
The  cloipe«t  faool  that  may  be  tied, 
By  cewteleM  «barp  corroflion  - 
A  temper  passionate  and  fierce 
May  suddenly  your  joys  dispwiw 
At  one  immeiis*  eicplosioik^ 

In  Tain  the  ta&Ati?«  uaite 
With  hepe  of  peirmanent  deHgfal^ 

The  secret  jcMt  ^mmitted : 
They  drop  through  mere  desire  to  prate^ 
Forgetting  iU  iniportafit  ii^%ht; 

And  by  thenuidves  outwitted^ 

How  bright  Ke'er  the  prospect  seeUM, 
All  thoughts  of  friendship  are  but  dreione 

If  envy  chance  to  c^eep  in  j  . 
An  envious  man,  if  you  succeed, 
May  prove  a  dang'rous  foe  indeed^ 

But  not  a  friend  wotth  keeping. 

As  envy  pines  at  good  posdMs'd) 
80  jealousy  looks  ^rth  distressed 

On  good  that  seems  approaehha^^. , 
And,  if  success  his  stops  attend, 
Discerns  a  rival  m  »  ftifitidi     • 

And  hates  lum  Ibr  etteroaohuvi^     . 

Hence  authors  of  iUurtitbuB  mwof , 
(Unless  belied  by  commwafwnei) 

Are  sadly  prono  to  qunnrel  i    ...    * 
To  deem  the  wit  a  friend  displays 
So  much  of  loss  to  theur  0W9  Vt^^^t    . 

And  pluck  eaqh  other's  kuirel. 

A  man  renowned  for  repartee. 
Will  seldom  scruple  to  make  free 
With  friendship's  finest  feeling, . 


-=J 


FRTENDSHIF.  lf» 

Will  thrust  a  dagger  at  your  broui 
And  tell  you,  'twa»  a  special  j«8t, 
By  way.  of  balm  for  healing* 

Bemraie  of  tattlers ;  keep  your.ew; 
Close  stopped  against  the  tales  they  h«a« ; 

Fruits  of  their  own  invention  ; 
T^  separation  of  cluef  friends 
Is  what  their  kindness  most  intends^ 

Their  sport  is  ymir  dissensiea. 

FrieiidAJp  thai  fnsttotfity  lUhntts 

A  joeo-serious  play  of  wits  « 

In  brilliant  altercatioui 
Is  nmon  such<  as  indicates, 
Like  hand-in-hand  insaranoe-plate% 

Danger  of  conflagration.    * 

Some  fickle  creatures  Boast  t  soid 
Tme  as  ike  needle  to  the  pole ; 

Yet  riiifting,  like  the  weather* 
The  n6edle*s  constancy  ibiego 
F«r  any  novelty,  and  show 

Its  Variations  rather 

Insensibility  makes  some 
Unseasonably  deaf  and  &tsB^ 

When  most  you  need  their  pity ; 
lis  waiting  tSn  the  tears  shafi  flitt 
From  Gog  and  Mago^  iA  Ckdldhall^ 

Those  playthings  of  ^  eity. 

The  great  and  small  but  Mdrely  meet 
bn  terms  of  amity  complete : 

Th*  attempt  would  scarce  be  madder, 
Should  any,  from  the  bottom,  hopia 
At  one  huge  stride  to  reach  the  top 

Of  an  erected  ladder. 
Vol.  HL  10 


no  FRI£NI>SH2r. 

Courder  and  patriot  cannot  mix 
Their  het'rogeneous  politicka 
•  Without  an  effervescence, 
Bach  at  of  aalta  with  lemon  juice 
But  whi<^  if  rarely  known  t'  indiitc^ 
Like  that,  a  coalescence. 

Reli^on  should  extmguish  strife, 
And  ma^e  a  calm  of  hmnan  life  • 

But  even  those  who  differ 
Only  on  topicks  left  at  large. 
How  fiercely  will  they  meet  a«f  chaqj*. 

No  combatants  are  jtiffer. 

To  prove,  alas !  my  main  intent, 
Needs  no  great  cost  of  argument. 

No  cutting  and  contjiving ; 
Seeking  a  real  friend,  we  seem 
T*  adopt  tht  chyou«t*«  golden  dream 

With  stiU  less  hope  of  thriving. 

Th^n  Judge,  or  ere  you  choose  your  man. 
As  circumspectly  as  you  can,  ., 

And,  having  made  election,  . 

See  that  no  disrespect  of  yours. 
Such  as  a  friend  but  ill  endmea, 

Enfeeble  his  a^^ctjon. 

It  is  not  timb^  tea*,  and  stone, 
An  architect  requires  alone, 

To  finish  a  great, building ; 
The  palace  were  but  half  complete. 
Could  he  by  any  chatnce  fitfget .     .    , 

The  carving  and  th^  gilding,. 

As  similarity  of  mind, 
Or  something  not  to  be  defined, 
First  rivets  our  attention ; 


FRIENDSHIP.  Ill 

So,  manners  decent  and  polite, 
,    The  same  we  practised  at  first  sight," 
Must  save  it  from  declcnsioa 

The  man  who  hails  you  Tom — or  Jack, 
And  proves  hy  thumping  on  your  back 

His  songe  of  your  great  merit, 
Jb  such  a  friend,  Uiat  one  had  need 
Be  very  much  his  friend  indeed, 

To  pardon,  or  to  bear  it. 

Some  friends  make  this  their  prudent  plaa-» 
**  Say  little,  and  hear  all  you  can  ?" 

Safe  policy,  but  hatefrd. 
So  barren  sands  imbibe  the  showV, 
But  rendec  neither  fruit  nor  flow'f 

Unpleasant  and  ungrateful, 

They  whisper  trivial  things,  and  mall ; 
But,  to  communicate  at  all 

Thingikserious,  deem  improper; 
Their  feculence  and  froth  they  show. 
But  keep  their  best  contents  below, 

Just  like  a  simm'ring  copper. 

These  samples  (for  alas !  at  last 
These  are  but  samples,  and  a  taste 

Of  evils  yet  unmentioned) 
May  prove  the  task,  a  task  indeed, 
In  which  'tis  much,  if  we  succeedf 

However  wcll-interition'd. 

Fanme  the  theme,  and  yon  shall  find 
51  disciplin'd  and  furnish'd  mind 

To  be  at  least  expedient. 
And  after  summing  all  the  rest, 
Religion  ruling  in  the  breast 

A  principal  inffrcdiont. 


112  THE  LOSS  OF  THE  KOTAL  OEORCUB. 

True  friendship  has,  in  short,  a  grace 
More  th^  terrestrial  in  its  face, 

That  proves  it  heaVn^eseended:  < 

Man*8  love  of  woman  n0t«>  pure, 
Nor,  when  sincerest,  so  secure 

To  last  till  life  is  ended 


ONTHELOSSOFTHEROYALGEORQE. 

{To  the  March  in  Scipto,} 

Written  whkv  thk  itsws  arrived 
\;S€ptemher,  1782.] 

Toifi.  ibr  the  brave ! 

The  brave  that  are  no  tnoxei  , 
All  ««iik  benedth  the  wave,  ' 

TmA  h^  their  native  shore ! 

» 
Eight  hundred  «f  the  brave, 

Whose  courage  well  was  triedy 
Had  made  the  vessel  heel. 

And  laKl  her  on  her  side. 

A  land  breeze  shooik  the  shroudsi 

And  she  was  overset ; 
Down  weiit  the  Royal  George, 

With  aU  her  crew  complete. 

Ton  for  the  brave !  ^ 

Brave  Kempenfelt  is  gone ; 

His  last  sea-fight  is  fought ;  • 

His  work  of  glorj  done 


THE  LOSS  OF  TH£  ROTAL  CffiORGE.  113 

mt  wu  not  in  th«  battle ; 

No  tempMt  gave  the  shodL ; 
She-npTBiil^  no  &tal  leak ; 

Sbe  ran  upon  no  rock. 

Hb  fword  was  in  his  sheath ; 

His  6ngers  lieM  the  pen. 
When  Kempenfelt  went  down. 

With  twice  four  hundred  men. 

Wei^  the  Tassel  up. 

Once  dreaded  by  our  foes! 
And  inlhgle  with  our  enp. 

The  tear  that  England  owes. 

Her  timbers  yet  are  sound, 

And  die  may  float  again, 
FnU-charg'd  with  ^ghuid'^  thunder. 

And  plough  the  distant  main. 

Bnt  Kempesfblt  is  gone. 

His  viotories  ate  o'er ; 
And  he  and  his  ei|i^  huddred, 

Shall  plough  the  wave  no  more. 

10» 


BEfe 


<m) 


IK  8UBMERBIONEM  NAVIGII,  CUT  GEORiSIUS 
REGALIS  NOMEN,  IHDrrUM. 

Flahoimus  fortes.    Periere  fortes, 
.  Fatriimi  propter  peiier^  Httns 
His  qnater  centum ;  sitbxto  mihtS^ 
£qfiore  mem* 

Naiis,  umitens  lateri,  jacebat, 
Ifalus  ad  sommas  titepidabat 
Com  levisy  fUnes  qtiatiens,  ad 
Pepulit  annu 

Flangimus  fortes.    Nlinis,  hen,  cadacam 
Fortibus  yitam  voluere  parcn^ 
Neo  sinunt  ultra  tibi  nos  reoenteo 
Neetere  laoras. 

Magne,  qui  nomen,  licet  incanonmiy 
Traditum  ez  multis  atavis  tulisti ! 
At  tuos  olim  xnemorabit  sTum 
Omne  triumphos. 

Non  hyems  illos  foribunda  menaty 
Nom  marl  in  clanso  scopuU  latentei^ 
Fissa  non  rimis  abies,  nee  atroz . 
Abstulit  ensis. 

Nayitn  sed  turn  niminm  jocosi 
VocfB  fallebant  hilari  laborem,    ^ 
£t  quiescebat  calamoque  deztram  iiBf 
pleverat  heros. 

Voa,  quibus  cordi  est  grave  opus  piumquAf 
Humidom  ex  alto  spolium  levate, 
Ct  putrescentes  sub  aquis  amicos 
Reddlte  amicis ! 


I1&  ON/PfiACB. 

Hi  quidem  (sic  dis  placuit)  fuere  : 
Sed  rails,  nondam  putris,  ire  potut 
Rorfus  in  beUum,  Biitonomque  nomen 
Tollere  ad  i 


SONG 

OK  tEAXiJi. 
WARTss  IV  TBS  tunon  or  1783»  at  turn  usqusir 

OF  LADT  AUBTSNi  WBO  OATB  TOm  SBHVUUUni 

A>— ^*  My  fond  shepheris  of  UUe,"*  4^. 

1^0  longer  I  foUow  a  flonnd ; 
No  longer  a  dream  I  pvrtne : 

C  happiness !  not  to  be  fbondy 
Unattiunable  treasiue,  adieu  1 

I  Jiaye  sought  thee  in  splendour  und  die^l^ 
In  the  regions  of  pleasure  joid  iaat»;         ^ 

I  have  sought  thee,  and  seem'd  to  possess^ 
Bat  have  prov'd  Ihee  jl  lasioBiftt  hiflt. 

An  humble  ambition  and  hope 
The  voice  of  true  wisdun  inspiftas  s 

Tis  sofficiont,  if  Peass  he  the  Moopftf 
And  the  summit  of  aU  < 


Peace  may  be  the  lot  of  the- mind 
That  seeks  in  it  meekness  and  love; 

Bat  rapture  and  bliss  are  confin'd 
To  the  gbrified  spirits  above. 


(IIC)  i 

SONG  .• 

j«r-.  «  The  Lass  cf  PaUU's  JtOJ 

When  all  within  is  peace, 

How  nature  seems  to  s^o ' 
Delights  that  never  cease. 

The  live-long  day  beguile. 
From  mom  to  dewy  eve, 

•  l^th  open  hand  she  showen 
Fresh  blessings  to  deceive, 

And  sooth  the  silent  hoars. 

It  is  content  of  heart 

Gives  nature  power  to  pleats  | 
The  mind  that  feels  no  smart. 

Enlivens  all  it  sees ; 
Csn  make  a  winthry  akj 

Seem  bright  as  smiling  Maf  • 
And  evening's  closing  eyo 

As  peep  of  earfy  <lay. 

The  vast  majestick  jrlobs, 

So  beauteously  array'd 
In  nature's  various  robe, 

With  wondrous.  duUdisplay'd, 
Is  to  a  mourner's  heart 

A  dreary  wild  at  best ; 
It  flutters  to  depart, 

And  longs  to  bo  at  rest. 

*  Also  written  at  the  request  of  Lady  Austen. 


(117) 

•BLZCTSD  Xmm  J^  PCCAfilOITAI,  POJUfj  JUf3ja^ft«» 

▼AiJEWcrroN. 


yK^im^HBtr,  178a.] 

Ou  Frieciilililii !  Cocdisl  of  tbe  Kwaaa  bi>eait 
So  little  ftU,  80  lenrentljr  prefeM^ ! 
Thy  blossoms  .flaok  our  «iiimu||^ootkif  j^osm; 
The  proMMB  of  deUoiMw  ftnit  af^eus : 
We  hug  the  hepes  of  oooskancsr  <Mid  tniA, 
8ach  is  theibily  of  o«r  4ree»iiAg  yem^ ; 
But  soon,  aksl  4eUot  ibe  nwh  misiake 
That  sanguine  inoxfwri^ee  lores  to  aMdce , 
And  yiew  with  teera  th'  oacpeoled  harreet  lost, 
Decay *d  by  time,  or  witber^^^  by  «  frost. 
Whoevor  midoEtakes  a  IHend's  great  part 
Should  be  reiiewM  in  nature,  pare  in  heart, 
Prepared  for  martyrdom,  and  strong  to  prove 
A  thousand  ways  the  force  of  genuine  love. 
He  may  be  call'd  to  give  up  health  and  gain, 
T*  exchange  content  for  trouble,  ease  for  pain, 
To  echo  sigh  for  sigh,  and  groan  for  groan. 
And  wet  his  cheeks  with  sorrows  not  his  own. 
The  heart  of  man,  for  such  a  task  too  frail, 
When  most  relied  on,  is  most  sure  to  fail ; 
And,  summoned  to  partake  its  fellow's  wo, 
Starts  from  its  office,  like  a  broken  bow. 

Vot'ries  of  business,  and  of  pleasure,  proTe 
Faithless  alike  in  friendship  and  in  love. 


RQ006 


L 


U8  FROM  THE  POEM  OF  VALKDIGTIOH 
Retif'd  from  all  the  circles  of  the  gay, 
And  aH  the  crowds,  (hat  bustle  life  away, 
To  scenes,  where  competition,  envy,  strife, 
Beget  no  thonder-clonds  to  trouble  life. 
Let  me,  the  charge  of  some  good  angel,  find 
One,  who  has  known,  and  has  escaped  mankind  ; 
Polite,  yet  Tirtnoos,  who  has  brought  away 
The  manners,  not  the  morab,  of  the  day : 
With  him,  perhaps  with  Acr,  (for  men  have  known 
No  firmer  friendships  than  the  fur  hfi?e  showBj) 
Let  me  enjoy,  in  some  unthought-cif  spot. 
All  former  friends  forgiven,  and  forgot, 
Down  to  the  close  of  life's  fiuit  fiuiing  MceoOf 
Union  of  hearts,  without  a  flaw  between. 
Tis  grace,  *tis  boottty,  and  it  caUs  fbr  pvaiMy 
If  God  give  health,  that  sunshine  of  our  days  * 
And  if  he  add,  a  blessing.shared  by  fiiw,. 
Content  of  heart,  more  praises  stili  jire.diiOf— 
Bat  if  he  grant  a  friend,  that  boon  posnosn'd . 
Indeed  is  treasure,  and  crowns  all  the  rest; 
And  giving  one,  whose  heart  is  in  the  skiMi 
Bom  firom  above,  and  made  ^vinely  wise. 
He  gives,  what  bankrupt  nature  never  can. 
Whose  noblest  coin  is  light  and  brittle  man, 
Gold,  purer  far  than  Ophir  ever  knew, 
A  soul,  an  Image  of  himself^  an^  there/era  traa  ' 


Ji 


TH£  SHORTNESS  OF  HUMAN  UFB.   1]» 

IN  BREVITATEM  VITiE  SPATTI  H6MimBUS 
CONCESSI. 

BT  DR.  JORTIV. 

Hsi  mihi !  Lege  nta  M  oeddil  aUpn  Yensgit, 
Lunaque  mutatiD.  repute!  £ipeixU&lbff«tiB, 
Astraque,  parpnrei  telb  extineta  diei| 
Runnui  Boete  Tigent    HnmUee  telluris  aliinmi 
Gramiiiis  herba  verensy  et  florum  pieta  propago, 
Qiios  cmdelifl  hyema  lethali  tabe  peredit,  * 
Cum  Zepll^  Yox  Uaada -rocat,  reditttue  Mreni 
Temperies  anni,  fcecnndo,  e  cespite  snrgnnt. 
Nos  domini  rerum,  noa,  magna  et  pulebia  nunati, 
Cum  breve  ver  vitao  robustaqoe  trannit  mtas, 
Defioimus ;  nee  nos  ordo  revolubilia  anraa       ^ 
Reddit  in  etheiiea%  tumuli  neque  cknstra  reselrit     . 


OH  THE 

SHORTNESS  OP  HUMAN  UFE, 

TRAirSLATION  OF  TBI  FOBSOOnrO. 

[Jatmary,  1784.] 

Suvs  tlmt  tet,  and  moons  that  wane. 
Rifle,  and  are  restored  again, 
Stars  that  orient  day  subdues, 
Night  at  her  return  renews. 
Herbs  and  flowers,  the  beauteous  bifth 
Of  the  genial  womb  of  earth, 
Suffer  but  a  transient  death 
From  the  winter^  cruel  breath 


ttO  TO  M18S  C^;  ON  ȣft  BIRTH-DAT 
Zophyr  ipeaks ;  Berenor  aktea 
Warn  the  glebe,  «ad  they  arise. 
We,  alaa !  £arUMi  hawghty  kings, 
We,  that  promise  migfatj  things, 
Loaing  soon  life's  happy  prime, 
Droop,  and  ftde,  in  little  time. 
Spring  lelafms,  bM  not  ocv  Uwia« 
Still 'tit  wiBtot  ilk  tiiftteMib^ 


EPITAPH  ON  JOHNSOSr. 

[JannMryf  1785.] 

HsRS  Johnson  lilss — ft  sage  by  all  allow'd, 

Whem  te  hftre  bred,  may  well  mate  England  pnrad 

Whose  prose  was  eloquence,  by  wisdom  taught ; 

The  graceful  vehicle  of  virtuous  thought*. 

Whose  verse  may  claim — grave,  masculine,  and  strong, 

Superiour  praisQ  to  the  mere  poet's  song ; 

Who  many  a  noble  gift  from  Heav'n  possess'd, 

And  faith  at  last,  alone  worth  all  the  rest. 

O  man,  immortal  by  a.  double  prize^ 

By  fiune  on  earth— by  gloiy  in  the  skfes  t 


TO  MISS 


,  OS  BER  BmTHJ)AT 


[17865 

How  many  betwweu  feast  and  wwit, 
Disgrace  their  parent  earth. 

Whose  deeds  constrain  us  to  detest 
The  day  that  give  them  birth  <    . 


j^BATlTUDE.  idt 

Not  w  wbeo  Stella**  natii  mora 

RoTolykg  jnoBtiiA  restoray 
We  ean  rejoice  that  elie  was  bon. 

And  wiah  her  borAOBce  more' 


*      •  GRATITUDE. 

ADDRESSED  TO  LAP?  HESKSTH. 

[I786J 

Thu  eap,  that  so  stately  appears, 

VTith  ribaad-boond  tassel  on  h^h. 
Which  seems  hj  the  crest  that  it  rears 

Ambitions  of  brmhing  the  sky  x 
This  cap  to'm^  cousin  I  owe^ 

She  gare  ft,  and  gave  me  besi^^y 
Wreathed  into  an  elegant  bow, 

The  ribaQd  with  which  it  is  ticdf 

This  wheet-ieoted  etndyliig  efaair^ 

Contrir'd  botik  ibt  tcJl-  and  repose,^ 
Wide-elboir'd  aa4  wadded  wi^  hair;      ' 

In  ^chich  I  btttb  sevibMe  and^dto, 
Bright-studded  to  dazzle  the  eyes^ ' 

And  rival  in  lustre  of  that 
In  which,  or  astronomy  lie§, 

Fur  Cassiopeia  sat : 

These  eai^ets,  so  soft  te  tlie  fbot,  '  t  * 

Caledonia's  traffiok  and  pride, 
Oh,  spare  them,  yc  knights  of  the  boot 

Escaped  from  a  cross-country  ride  ! 
This  table  and  mirror  within, 

Secure  from  collision  and  dust, 
At  which  I  od  shave  cheek  and  chin 

And  periwig  nicely  adjust  * 
Vol.  hi.  11 


=:%p»^ 


122  GRATITUDE. 

This  moveable  structure  of  shelves, 

For  its  beauty  admired^  aiid  its  use, 
And  charged  with  octavos  and  twolves, 

The  gayest  J  liad  to  produce . 
Where,  flaming  in  scarlet  and  gold, 

My  poems  enchanted  1  view, 
And  hope,  in  due  time  to  behold 

JITy  lUad  and  OdjFSsejr  tool  ^ 

This  china,  that  decks  the  alcove, 

Whioh  here  people  call  a  buffet. 
But  what  the  gods  call  it  above. 

Has  ne'er  been  reveal'd  to  us  yet ; 
These  curtains,  that  keep  the  room  warm 

Or  cool,  as  the  season  demands, 
These  stoves  thst  fi>r  pattern  and  form. 

Seem  the  labour  of  Muk^iber's  hands : 

An  these  are  not  half  that  I  owe  ^ 

To  one,  from  her  earliest  youth 
To  me  ever  ready  to  show 

Benignity,  friendship,  and  truth  *, 
For  time^  the  disstroy^  ded»r'd 

And  foo  of  pur  perishing  ktad, 
If  even  her  faee  be  has  spai:*d» 

Mnoh  lesr  CRuld  he  alter  %t€  mind.« 

Thus  eompassM  about  with  the  goods  • 

And  chattels  of  leisure  and  ease,    ■  ■ 
I  indulge  my  poetical  moods, 

In  many  such  fancies  as  these ; 
And  fancies  I  fear  they  wHlseom-^ 

Poets*^goods  are  not  often  so  fine ; 
The  poets  will  swear  tiiat  I  dreaiti, 

When  I  sing  of  the  splendour  df  mine 


J 


f  123  ) 


THE  FLATTING-MILL. 


▲N  nXVSTRATIOH. 

WuBN  a  b^  of  pure  silyer,  or  ingot  of  gold^ 
^8  sent  to  be  flatted  or  wrought  into  length, 
It  is  pasted  between  cylinders  oflen,  and  rolPd 
In  an  engine  of  utmost  mechanical  strength. 

Thos  tortar*d  and  squeezed,  at  last  it  appears 
Like  a  loose  heap  of  riband,  a  glittering  show, 
Like  musick  it  tinkles  and  rings  in  your  ears, 
And,  warm*d  by  the  pressure,  is  aQ  in  a  glow. 

This  process  achiered,  it  is  doomed  to  sustain 
The  thump-afler-tburap-of  a  gold'beater*s  mallet, 
And  at  last  is  of  service  in  sickness  or  pain 
To  cover  a  piU  for  a  delicate  palate. 

Ahui  for  the  poet  t  who  dares  undertake 

To  UE^  reformation  of  national  iU— 

His  head>uid  his  heart  are  both  likdy  to  aehe 

With  the  double  employment  of  mallet  and  milL 

If  he  wish  to  instruct,  he  must  learn  to  delight, 
Smooth,  ductile,  and  even,  his  fancy  must  flow, 
Must  tinkle  and  glitter  like  geld  to  the  mght, 
And  catch  in  its  progress  a  sensible  glow. 

After  all,  he  must  beat  it  as  thin  and  as  fine 
As  the  leai  that  unfolds  what  an  invalid  swalloii{^ 
For  truth  is  unwelcome,  however  divine,  « 

And  unless  you  adorn  it,  a  nausea  follows. 


LINES 

COMPOSED  FOR  ▲  MEMORIAL  OP 

ASHLEY  COWPER,  ESa 

IXMZDIATSLT  AFTER  HIS  DEATH* 

BY  ms  NEPHEW,  WILLUM  bT  WESTON 

iJune,  ItSS.] 

Farewell  !  endued  with  all  that  could  enga^ 
All  hearts  to  love  thee,  both,  in  youth  and  age ! 
In  prime  of  life,  for  sprightlineas  enroU'd 
Among  the  gay,  yet  virtuous  as  the  old ; 
In  lifo*s  last  stage    O  blessings  rarely  found — 
Pleasant  as  youth  with  all  its  blossoms  crownVl ; 
Through  every  period  of  this  changeful  state, 
Unehang*d  thyself— wise,  good,  %^ectionate ' 

Marble  may  flatter ;  and  lest  this  should  seem 
0*orcharg*d  with  ptai^es  dH  so  dear  a  theme, 
Although  thy  worth  be  mojre  than  half  supprett,^^ 
Love  #ibitt  be  satisfied)  and  veil  the  rest 


QUEEN'S  VISIT  TO  LONDON, 

THE  NIGHT   OF  THE    17th  MARCH,   1789. 

Whbh,  long  sequestcr'd  from  his  throne, 

George  took  his  seat  again, 
By  right  of  worth,  not  blood  alone, 

Entitled  here  to  reign. 


^sr:^ 


THE  QUEEITS  VISIT  TO  hOJUDO^    V2S 

Then  Loyalty,  with  all  his  lainpa 

New  trimm'd,  a  gallant  diow ! 
Chasing  the  darkness,  and  the  damps, 

Set  London  in  ajg^low. 

Twas  hard  to  tell,  of  streets  or  sqnatei, 

Which  fonn'd  the  chief  display. 
These  most  resembling  einster'd  stars; 

These  thsk  loeg  milky  way. 

Bright  shone  the  rooifii,  the  domes,  the  wpa^ 

And  rockets  flew,  self-driven. 
To  hang  their  momentary  fires 

Amid  the  ranlt  of  Hear'n. 

So,  fire  with  water  to  compare. 

The  ocean  serves,  on  high 
Up-spoated  by  a  whale  in  air, 

T'  express  unwieldy  joy. 

Had  an  the  pageants  of  the  world 

In  one  procession  join'd, 
And  all  the  banners  been  nnfbrrd 

That  heralds  e'e/  design'di 

For  no  such  sight  had  Ehgland's  Qaeeii  ' 

Forsaken  her  retreat, 
Where,  George  recovered,  made  a  scene 

Sweet  always,  doubly  sweet. 

Yet  glad  she  came  that  night  to  prore^ 

A  witness  undesori'd, 
How  much  the  object  of  her  love 

Was  lov'd  by  all  beside.. 

Darkness  the  skies  had  mantled  o'er^ 

In  aid  of  her  design 
Darkness,  O  Queen  !  ne*er  caU*d  befoiift 

To  veil  a  deed  of  thine  1 


On  borrow'd  ^i^ieek  n,wKy  ^be  flie^> 
ReBolt*d  to  be  iskkBown, 

And  gisftify  no  ottikqn  «yeB 
That  night,  ejocepi^hai  i 


ArriT^y  a  nigiit  lik»  nooiiiiir  Msi; 

And  hMM  th»  B^licm  kmB  ; 
Afl  all  by  iaitmoty  like  the  beei^ 

Had  known  their  wofT'nlgm  daoHik 

Pleas4  dte  bdield  alefV  pofortri^ 

On  many  a  splendid  wbU, 
'  Emblema  of  health,  and  bemv*idy  ui^ 
And  George  the  theme  of  A 

Unlike  the  sBnigmatiok  Hne^ 

80  difficult  to  epel^y 
'Which  shock  Beldiazzar  at  hie  ^iney 

The  night  his  city  leil. 

Soon,  wat'ry  grew  her  ^roe  aad  diiii^ 

Bot  with  a  joyfiil  tear> 
None  else,  etoept  a  pray'r  for  him,: 

George  ever  dren^  from  her. 

It  was  a  ecene  in  t(v*ry  part 
Like  those  in  &ble  feign'd^ 

And  aeem'd  by  scmie  magician^  art 
Created  and  scutain'd. 

Bat  other  Buq^ek  there,  she  knew, 

Had  been  exerted  none. 
To  ruse  such  wonders  in  her  view, 

Save  loTe  of  Geor|re  aloiie. 

That  cordial  thought  hst^ispMt  ohd^^d. 
And  through  the  emohYoiis  thrdig 

Not  else  unworthy  to  bd  fbar'd, 
Convey'd  her  calm  along. 


XPS  €OCK^OHTER'S  GASHJOXB. 

80,  ancient  poets  my  serene 

The  feapinaid  rides  the  whtoi^ 

And  fearless  of  the  hiUowy  seems 
Her  peac^il  bosom  kvet. 

With  more  than  astronomiek  ey«s 
She  view'd  the  sparkling  show ; 

One  Georgian  star  adonis  the  sidesy 
She  ajriads  found  below 

Tet  let  the  glmnes  of  a  nigh 
Like  that  once  seen,  suffice, 

Heay'n  grant  us  no  such  fiiture  eighty 
Such  previous  wo  the  price ! 


m 


THX 


COCK-FIGHTER'S  GARLAHB* 

[Jlffl^lTW.l 

Muss — ^Hide  his  name  of  whom  I  dag 
Lest  his  surviving  house  thou  briogy 

For  his  sake,  into  scorn  ; 
Nor  speak  tiw  School  firom  which  he  di«# 
The  much  or  little  that  he  kneWy 

Nor  ^aoe  where  hfr  was  bom. 


That  such  a  man  onoe  was,  may  1 
Worthy  of  record  (if  the  theme 

Perchance  may  credit  win) 
For  proof  to  man,  what  man  may  pror»y 
If  grace  depart,  and  demons  mova 

The  source  of  guilt  within. 


128    TH?  COCK-FIGHTERS  GARLAND. 

ThU  man  (for  since  the  howling  wild 
Diiclaimfl  him,  Man  he  mast  be  styl'd) 

Wanted  no  good  below, 
Gentle  he  was,  if  gentle  birth 
Could  make  him  inch,  and  he  had  worth, 

If  wealth  can  worth  bestow. 


In  aocial  talk  and  ready  jest' 
He  shone  soperionr  at  the  feast, 

And  qualities  of  mind 
Ulastrioas  in  tho  eyes  of  those 
Whose  gay  society  he  chose, 

rossess'd  of  every  kind. 

Methinhs  I  see  him  powder*d  red, 
With  bushy  locks  his  well-dress*d  head 

Wing'd  broad  on  either  side. 
The  mossy  rose  bud  not  so  sweet 
His  steed  superb,  his  carriage  neat 

As  lux*ry  could  provide. 

Can  such  be  cruel !— ^acK  ean  be 
Cruel  as  hell,  and  so  is  he ! 

A  tyrant,  entedala'd ,   ' 
With  barb*rous  sffor to,  whose  fell  doliglik 
Was  to  encourage  mortal  iSgfat 

Twist  Urdaio  bat^  tram'A. 

One  feaih^'d  plUiGUiipioii  he  poasesa'd. 
His  darling  far  t)«yond  tke  rest, 

Which  jMi«rJuiiaw.diagrao#v  . 
Nor  e*er  had  fought,  but  ha  made  flow 
The  life-blood  of  his  fiercesi  foe, 

Tho  Cfl^ai?  of  his  race., 

It  chanced,  at  last,  when,  f^l  &  digr, 
He  push'd  him  to  tho  dcsp'rato  fray   • 
His  courage  droop '4/  be  itodt 


J, 


THE  COCK-FIGHTER'S  GARLAND     1» 
The  Blaster  Btorm'di  the  prise  wai  loity 
Andy  instant  frantick  at  the  cost. 
He  doom'd  his  fa?'rite  dead. 

Be  Mii*d  him  fiut,  and  from  the  pit 
Flew  16  his  kiteheii,  snatoh'd  the  spit, 

And,  brin^  me  cord,  he  cried — 
The  oord  was  bronght,  and  at  his  wordy 
To  that  dire  implement  the  bird, 

Alive  and  straggling,  tied. 

The  horrid  sequel  asks  a;  veii. 
And  an  the  terronrs  of  the  taltf 

That  can^  he,  shall  he,  Madk^' 
Led  by  the  soiTrer'a  flcreama  aright, 
His  shock*d  companions  tiew  the  iHgik^ 

And  him  with  ftirj  drunk. 

An,  sappliant  beg  a  milder  fitte 
For  the  eld  warxiour  at  the  grate : 

He,  deaf  to  pity's  eaU, 
Whirl'd  round  him  rapid  as  a  wheel 
His  culinary  club  of  steel. 

Death  menacing  on  aR 

Out  yengeaaee  hung  not  fkr  remote. 

For  while  he  stretched  Ids  ekmVous  thro«l» 

And  heav'n  and  earth  defied. 
Big  with  a  curse  too  cloiely  pknot^ 
That  strugji^  vainly  for  a  vent, 

He  totter'd,  reePd,  and  died. 

Tisflot  Ibr  lis,  wMi  ntoh  sirsll«ef 
To  point  the  Judgments  of  the  ttdiem^ 

B«t  j«^wenti  i^ain  aoi  ttriif 
That,  sent  for  Miid[*s  instrUotiol^Mil^ 
A  Wtittn^  liM  Off  iheir  iHng!^ 

Tis  hard  td  read  antisi; 


130     TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HORACE. 


BENEFIT  RECEIVED  BY  HIS  MAJESTY 
FROM  SEA-BATHING, 

IN  THE  YEAB  1789. 

O  SoT*REiGN  of  an  isle  renown'ci 

For  undisputed  sway 
Wherever  o'er  yon  gulf  profound  / 

Her  navies  wing  theii  way. 

With  jttster  claim  she  builds  at  length 

Her  empire  on  the  sea, 
And  weii  may  boast  tho  waves*  her  strength 

Which  strengtli  restored  to  Thee. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HORACE. 


HOR.LIB.  I.  ODE  IX. 

Vides^  ta  aUa  stet  vivt  ctmdidwm 
Soracte. 

8ES*iT  thou  yon  mountain  laden  with  deep  snow, 
The  groves  benefth  their  fleeey  burthen  bow. 
The  stream*  comgeaVd  foi;get  to  flow. 
Come,  thaw  the  cold,  and  lay  a  ehmful  pile 

Of  fuel  on  the  hearth ; 

Broach  the  best  cask,  and  make  old 

With  seasonable  mirth. 


TRANBL^WnONS  FROM  HORACE,      m 
Tliii  be  our  pait-^et  HeaT*n  dispose  the  rest 

If  Jove  command,  the  winds  shall  sleep, 
That  now  wtLge  war  upon  the  fbamjr  deep, 

And  £fentle  gales  spring  fr<mi  die  hatmjr  "Wmt, 
Weik  let  ns  shift  to^mortoW  as  we  may^ 

When  toHDorrow's  past  away^ 

We  at  least  shall  have  to  say,  •  - 

We  have  liv'd  another  day ; 
Tour  auburn  locks  will  soon  be  sihrer'd  o'er, 
Old  age  is  at  our  heels,  and  youth  returns  no  moM. 


HOR.  LIB.  I.  0BE  9a 

Persieos  odi,  puer^  appuratm. 

Boy,  I  hate  their  empty  shows, 

Persian  garlands  I  detest. 
Bring  not  me  the  late-blown  rose. 

Lingering  after  all  the  rest : 

Plainer  myrtle  pleases  me. 

Thus  out-stretch*d  beneath  my  vine 
Myrtle  more  hocominU  thee. 

Waiting  yd\h  thy  master  swin^ 


1 
.1 


HOR.  B.  I.  ODE  38. 

BoT !  I  MMt  an  P«rfM]i  fopperies 
FUlet^xmnd  garlands  sre  to  me  ^tisgosUng, 
Task  not  tlgpiitf  littll  wff  ifjm^,  I;  rtWffo  thee, 
Wbeve  latest  roses  linger^ 

Bring  me  alone  (for  thon  wih  find  that  readlljj 
Hwn  myrtle.    Myrtle  neither  viH  dispiM^gp 
Thee  oeeopied  to  serve  me,  or  me  drinkiinj^ 
"  i  my  yin©'*  99?1  shelter. 


HOR.  LIB.  H.  OWE  1& 

(Xlmik  Divos  rogot  in  potentt. 

Eais  is  the  weary  merchanVs  pray'r, 
Who  ploughs  hy  night  the  Agean  fiood« 

When  neither  moon  nor  stars  appear, 
Or  laintly  glimmer  through  the  cloud. 

For  ease  the  Mede  with  quiver  graced, 
For  esse  the  Thracian  hero  sighs. 

Delightful  ease  all  pant  to  taste, 
A  hleseing  which  no  treasure  buys 


==J 


TftANBLATlONd  FROM  HOftlCSB. 
F«riieftber  ir<M  eaa  InH  lo  iMt, 
Hot  iifl  A  CoBwU'i  guatdlMttl  ofl; 

A  fev  deftn  (maoed  of  old  pi»t|t ; 
No  fear  intmdefl  on  hi*  lepope, 
2^  lordid  wishes  to  be  great. 

Poor  fhort-lly'd  things,  what  plans  we  lay  * 
Ah,  why  foraake  oar  Bative  home ! 

To  distant  climates  speed  away : 
For  self  sticks  close  where'er  we  roam. 

Care  follows  hard  ;  and  soon  o'ertakes 

The  well  rigg'd  ship,  the  warlike  steed. 
Her  destined  quarry  ne'er  forsakes, 

Not  the  wind  flies  with  half  her  speed. 

i 

From  an^ous  fears,  of  future  ill 

Goard  well  the  eheerf\xl,  happy  Now ;     " 
Gild  even  your  sorrows  with  a  smile. 

No  blessing  is  unmix'd  below. 

Thy  neighing  steeds  and  lowing  hordfi, 

Thy  numerous  flocks  around  thee  gra«a^ 
And  the  best  purple  Tyre  affords 
^  Thy  robe  magnificent  displays 

On  me  indulgent  Heay'n  bestowed 
A  rural  mansion,  neat  and  small , 
This  Lyre ;  and  as  for  yonder  crowd. 
The  happiness  to  hate  them  all. 
Vol.  III.  12 


04    TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  OR.  Li^OlTD 

I  wmke  no  apology  for  the  introduction  ofik$  folf 
lowing  Unes,  though  1  have  never  learned  toho  wrote 
them.  Their  eUgantee  will  suffieienthy  recommend  tkem 
to  persons  of  Hassieal  taste  and  erudition,  and'  I  shdL 
le  happy  \f  the  English  version  that  they  have  received 
from  mCf  be  found  not  td  dishonour  them.  Affection 
for  the  memory  of  the  worthy  man  whom  they  tklebrate, 
alone  prompted, ma  to  this  endeavour. 

W.  COWPER. 


VERSES 


THE  MEMORY  OP  DR.  LLOYD, 

•POKCH  AT  THB  WK8TMINSTBR  XLSOTnS  lOBtV  ATTII 
HIS  DSCEASS. 

Abut  sonox !  periit  senez  amabilis ! 

Quo  non  fait  jucundior. 
Lugote  vos,  letas  quibus  matnrior 

Senem  colendum  prsestitit, 
Seu  quando,  viribus  valenlioribTis  * 

Firmoque  fretus  pectore, 
~  Floreiitiori  vos  juventute  excolens 

Cura  fovebat  patria. 
Seu  quando  fractuB,  jamque  donatus  rtide, 

Vultu  Bed  usque  blandulo, 
Miscere  gaudebat  suas  facetias 

His  annuls  leporibus. 
Vixit  probijp,  puraqua  simplex  indole 

Blandisque  coiriis  moribus,  * 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  DR.  i»UOYO.    13i) 
£t  dives  83Qua  mento— charvui  omniho% 

Unius*  auctus  munere. 
Itetitulil  mentis  beatioribuB 

Aptate  laudes  debitas ! 
Nee  inyidebat  ille,  si  quibus  fareiis 

Fortuna  plus  arriser^^t. 
Flacido  aenez  1  lev!  quiescas  ceepin, 

Etsi  superbom  nee  vIyo  tiM 
Decos  sit  inditum,  nee  mortuo' 

Lapis  notatus  nomine. 


THE  SAME  IN  ENGUSH. 

dm  good  old  friend  is  gcme,  gone  to  his  rest, 
Whose  soeial.conyerse  was,  itself,  a  feasi. 
O  ye  of  riper  age,  who  recollect 
How  once  ye  loved,  and  eyed  him  with  respect* 
Both  in  the  firmness  of  his  better  day. 
While  yet  he  ruled  you  with  a  father^s  sway* 
And  when,  impair'd  by  time,  and  glad  to  rest, 
Tet  still  with  loqks  In  mild  complacence  dresp 'd, 
He  took  his  annual  ^eat,  and  mingled  h^e 
His  sprightly  vein  with  yours— now  drop  a  tear. 
In  morals  blameless  as  in  manners  meek, 
He  knew  no*  wish  that  he  might  blush  to  spe^, 
But,  happy  in  whatever  state  below, 
And  richer  than  the  rich  in  being  so, 
Obtain'd  the  hearts  of  all,  and  such  a  meed 
At  length  froni  One,t  as  made  him  rich  indoed. 

•  He  was  usher  and  nnder^naster  of  Wostmivislor  flfear  fiftj 
years,  and  retired  from  bis  occupation  when  he  was  near  soi 
venly,  with  a  handsome  pension  from  the  king, 

t  Spe  the  note  ia  the  Latin  copy. 


.«fe^= 


186  TO  MRS.  THROCKMORTON. 

Hence  then,  ye  titles,  hence,  not  wanted  here 
Go,  garnish  merit  in  a  brighter  sphere, 
The  brows  of  those  whose  more  exalted  lot 
He  could  congratulate,  but  enried  not. 

Light  lie  the  tnrf,  good  Senior !  on  thf  htenaif 
Andy  tranquil  as  thj  mind  was,  be  thy  rest ! 
Tho'  living,  thou  hadst  more  desert  than  f«me, 
And  not  &  stonC;  now,  ohrenleles  thy  Aame. 


TO  MRS.  THROCKMORTON, 

OH 
BXB  BXAVTIFUL  TRAVSCRIPT  OF  HORACB'S  ODBf 

AD  LiBRXHif  smm. 

IFehnattfi  1790.] 

Maria,  could  Horace  htrre  gnesii^ 

What  honettf  a#aited  his  ode. 
To  his  own  little  ^kune'sddressM, 

The  faonout-  which  you  hare  bestow'd, 
Who  hare  traded  It  in  characters  herd 

Bo  eleganti  oreil,  and  neat, 
He  had  laugh*d  at  the  critical  sneer^ 

Which  ha  seems  to  hare  trembled  to  meet 

And  sneer,  if  you  please,  he  had  said, 

A  nymph  shall  hereafter  arise, 
Who  riudl  give  me,  when  you  are  all  dead. 

The  glory  your  malice  denies. 
BtaSl  dignity  give  to  my  lay, 

Altliough  but  a  mere  bagatelle  ; 
And  even  a  poet  shall  say, 

Nothing  ever  was  written  so  welL 


{137) 


INSCRIPTION 

F#r  •  SUme  erected  at  the  Sowing  of  a  Grove  tf  Omk$ 
tU  (MUngton,  the  seat  of  T.  Oifford^  Etq. 

1790. 

IJme,  1790.] 

Othxb  itoaefl  tha  tni  teil, 
When  some  feeble  mortal  fell ; 
I  stand  here  to  date  the  birth 
Of  theae  hardy  sons  of  Earth. 

Which  shall  longest  braye  the  alqrt 
StonD  and  firost^-these  oahs  or  I M 
Pass  an  age  or  two  away, 
I  most  moulder  and  deeay. 
But  the  years  that  emmble  me 
Shall  inTigonte  the  tree. 
Spread  its  branch,  dilate  itM  die, 
Lift  its  snmiiiit  lo^thtt  i" 


CSieiiiii  hotuntf  virta^  tnrtl^ 
So  shaU  thoa  pfolong  thy  yoalh. 
Wantiiig^  these,  however  fiwl 
Mast  be  62*4  and  ferm'd  to  faMl 
He  is  lifeless  even  now, 
Stone  at  heart,  and  eannol  grow. 
12* 


CI*) 
ANOTHER, 

Far  a  SUme  erected  an  a  similar  occasion  at  the  aame 
place  in  thsfottotoing  year. 

IJune,  1790.] 

RxADXR !  Behold  a  moirament 

That  aiaks  no  sigh  ot  tear. 
Though  it  perpetuate  the  erent 

Of  a  great  VorM  hi^ttf. 

Ittilfo  1791. 


fiYMN, 

roii  THjt  vsE  or  tbx. 
SUNDAY  SCfidOL  At  titNEY, 

Hbar,  Lotd,  ibe  ttmg  of  pndrio  «hI  #ilij*r. 

In  heavto  iky  dwt^Xaig^lmem, 
From  infantt^  Dfeadb  tke  ^oUisk  fsntf 

And  tauglrt  Ift  Mfk  tliy  Mb  ! 

Thanks  for  thy  Word  and  for  thy  i>^^ 

And  grant  us,  we  implore,    *  ■ 
Never  to  waste  In  sinful  play 

Thy  holy  Sabbatli  more.  «  ^ 

Thanks  that  we  hear — but  oh  impart 

To  each  desire  sincere, 
That  we  may  listen  with  our  hearty 

And  learn  as  well  as  hear 


STANZAS.  m 

For  if  vain  tlioiights  tbe  nuacbi  «iigaga 

Of  older  far  thaa  we^ 
Wliat  hop9  that  it  our  beedteai  «g« 

Our  rnindfl  shiNdd  e'er  be  irovS 

Mucli  hflpe>  if  thou  our  spirite  tain 

Under  thj  gt^Mmjm  away^ 
Who  canst  the  wisest  wiaer  rndte^ 

And  babes  at  win  at  tiey* 

Wisdom  aad  bins  thy  word  hrnktml^ 

A  sun  that  ]iB*er  dsdasee } 
And  be  tl^  mereies  showY*d  en 

Who  plac*d  t»  where  k  rioikes.* 


-^O^- 


8TAN^A9 


On  the  late  indecent  Uhe^Us  Uken  v>itk  Mai  Remmiu 
of  the  great  MiUonr-^Anno  1780. 

lAugustyVf^} 

"  Mk-Ioo,  perchance,  in  fiiture  days, 
The  sculptured  stone  shall  show 

With  Paphian  myrtle  or  with  bays 
Parnassian  on  my  brow. 

*  Note  by  the  Edito]:.  This  Hymn  was  written  at  tlie  Fe> 
quest  of  the  Rev.  James  Bean,  then  Vicar  of  OIney,  to  be 
fUDg  by  the  children  of  the  Sunday  Schools  of  that  town, 
ailcr  a  Charity  Sermon,  preached  at  the  Parish  Church  for 
ibeir  benefit,  on  Sunday,  July  3],  1790. 


110  STANZAS. 

Bat  I,  or  •n  that  leaaon  come, 

Eicaped  from  oveiy  caro, 
Shhll  Mack  my  refugo  in  the  tomib^ 

And  bImp  aaemdj  ibare.*'* 

80  nngy  in  Roman  tono  and  atyley 
The  youthful  bard,  ere  long 

Oidain'd  to  fraee  his  native  iale 
With  her  mdilhneat  song. 

Who  then  bat  most  conceive  djedain. 

Hearing  the  deed  onblest 
Of  wietchee  who  iutve  dar'd  profane 

His  dread  sepalchral  rest? 

lU  fiire  the  hands  that  heav'd  the  stones 

Where  Milton's  ashes  lay. 
Thai  trembled  not  to  grasp  his  bones, 

And  steal  his  dust  away ! 

O  fil-reqaited  bard  I  negleot 

Thy  living  worth  repaid. 
And  blind  idolatroas  respect 

As  nmeh  affironts  the  doad« 

*  ForsitaB  et  noilrof  chicat  de  aaannora  vnlUis 
Nedeas  aol  Paphia  myrti  aut  Pamassicie  lauri 
IWsKle  oooras.  •  •  At  ego  aecura  pace  quiescam. 

JMilion  in  Maioa 


rA-aaea 


(141) 


TO  MRa  KING 


Ber  kind  Preitmi  to  the  JhiA^r^^FaUk-w^Ot  Cat» 

Urpans  of  h§r  01011  makings 

[Jhi^ust  14, 1790.] 

Th«  Bard,  if  e*er  ho  feel  at  all, 
Must  sure  be  quicken'd  by  a  call 

Both  on  his  heart  and  head, 
To  pay  with  tuneful  tlumks  the  care 
And  kindness  of  a  lady  fair, 

Who  deigns  to  deck  his  bed. 

A  bed  like  this,  in  ancient  time, 
On  Ida's  barren  top  sublime, 

(Xs  Homer's  Eptek  shows) 
Compos'd  of  sweetest  vernal  flow'rs. 
Without  the  aTd  of  sun  or  showVs, 

For  Jove  and  Juno  rose. 

Less  beautiful,  however  gay. 

Is  that  which  in  the  scorching  day 

Receives  the  weary  swain 
Who,  laying  his  long  sithe  aside, 
bleeps  on  some  bank  with  daisies  pied^ 

Tin  rous'd  to  toil  agafai. 

l¥hat  laboun  of  the  loom  I  se^ ! 
Looms  numberless  have  gnmii'd  for  m& 

Should  ev*ry  maiden  ^me 
4V9  •^raffible  ibr.tbe  patch  that  bMOi 
Th^  impress  of  the  rebe  she  wem, 

The  bell  would  toll  (br  some. 


142  ANECDOTE  OF  HOMEtt. 

And  ohy  what  havock  wou)4  ensuo  * 
This  bright  displaj  of  ev'ry  hue 

All  in  a  moment  fled ! 
As  if  a  storm  should  strip  the  bow'n 
Of  all  their  tendrils,  leaves,  and  flow*ni^' 

Each  pocketing  a  shred. 

Thanks,  then,  to  er'iy  gentle  lab 
Who  will  not  come  to  peek  me  bare 

As  bird  of  borrowed  feather. 
And  thanks,  to  One,  above  them  ally 
The  gentle  Fair  of  Pertenhall, 

Who'put  the  whole  together. 


lOctober,  1790.] 

*  Certam  Potters,  while  they  were  busied  in  baking  then 
ware,  seeing  Homer  at  a  sn^^all  distance,  and  having  beard 
mach  said  of  his  wisdom,  called  to  him,  and  pronused  him  a 
present  of  their  conmiodity,  and  of  such  other  things  as  th^ 
could  aflbfd,  if  he  would  sing  to  them,  when  he  sang  &s  fill* 
lowst 

Pat  mc  my  price,  Potters !  and  I  will  sinn^      • 
Attend, .O  Pallas!  and  with  liftcd.arm 
Protect  their  oven ;  let  the  cups  and  all 
The  sacred  vessels  blacken  well,  and  baked 
With  good  success,  yield  them  both  fair  rcaown 

•  Note  by  the  Editor.  JVb  liilt  ispr^U^  to  this 
piece :  bui  it  afpeart  to  he  a  transUuion  ^one  of  Ue 
Xmy^fLfiara  of  Homer,  caUcd  *0  Kofuvtf  or  the  Fur* 
naee.  The  prrfatory  Unes  are  from  the  Greek  of  He- 
rodotuSf  or  whoever  toot  the  Author  ^  the  Life  of 
Homer  ascribed  to  him 


ANECDOTB  OK  HOMKR  143 

And  profit,  wbet^r  in  tho  market  sold, 
Or  street,  and  let  na  fltrife  ensue  between  ut; 
Bttty  oh,  ye  Potters !  if  with  shameless  front, 
Te  falsify  your  promise,  then  I  leave 
No  misohief  oninrok^d  t*  avenge  the  wrong. 
Come  Syntrips,  Smaragus,  Sftbactes  come, 
And  Asbetiis,  nor  lot  your  direst  dread, 
Omodamus,  delay  1  Fire  seize  your  house, 
May  neither  house  nor  vestibule  escape, 
May  ye  hunent  to  see  eonfusion  mar 
And  mingle  the  wliole  hdboot  of  your  Iiands, 
And  may  a  sound  fill  all  your  oven,  suclT 
As  of  a  horse  gfindiBg  his  provender, 
WhiTe  all  your  pots  and  flagons  bounce  within. 
Come  hither  also,  daughter  of  the  sun, 
Circe  the  Sorosress,  ahd  witii  thy  drugs 
Poison  themselves,  and  all  that  thoy  have  made 
Come  also,  Ohiron,  with  thy  num'rous  troop 
Of  Centaurs,  as  well  those  who  died  beneath 
The  elttb  of  Hercules,  as  who  escaped, 
And  stamp  their  crockery  to  dust ;  down  fall 
Their  chUnney ;  let  them  see  k  with  their  eyesf 
And  howl  to  see  the  rutn  of  their  art, 
WI1II&  I  rejoioe;  and  if  a  petter  etoop 
To  peep  into  his  fbmace,  may  tho  fire 
Flash  in  his  face  and  seorcli  it,  that  all  men 
Obserre,  theneefofth|  equity  tnd  good  fiMfh 


(144  ; 
IK  MEiiOft  Y 

OF  tms  tATK 

JOHN  THORNTON.  K§^ 

[j^i«Mi&Mvi7oai 

PoxTf  attempt  the  noUert  tMk4iieir  «l»* 
Prmbing  tJw  Author  of  aU  g oodin  janiti, 
Andy  next,  comiiiBiiioniting  WoBtkiB9  -loAti 
The  Dead  in  wham  tiuct  fi;ood  abomcbiL-BMltt* 


Thee,  therefiMre,  of  eommafcial  ^umAfhat  i 
Famed  for  thj  prabi^  firom  ahoreitoAhaEa^ 
Thee,  Thobktoh  !  worthy  m  aooieipafa  to.duHOy 
As  honesty  and  more  «loqnent  than  mua, 
I  roonm ;  Wy  ainoe  thrice  happy  4ho«  inprt  he, 
The  worid,  no  lottger  ^y  ahodOy  not  thae« 
Thee  to  deplore^  weitefrief  mii|)raBt  mdaedi^ - 
It  were  to  weep  that  ftKxbieaaiiiiaitaJiBBed^ 
That  thereia  btiaa  ^repa^ed te  jpatadertaky,    .    . 
And  glory  for  the  Ttrtuous,  whan  they  di&. 

What  pleasure  can  the  nuser*8  fondled  board, 
Or  spendthrift's  prodigal  excess  afford. 
Sweet  as  the  privilege  of  healing  wo 
By  virtue  suffer'd  combating  below  ? 
That  privilege  was  thine  ;  Heav*n  gave  thee  means 
T'  illamine  with  delight  the  saddeitf  seenes, 
Till  thy  appearance  chased  the  gloom,  forlorn 
As  midnight,  and  despairing  of  a  mom. 
Thou  hadst  an  industry  in  doing  good. 
Restless  as  his  who  toils  and  sweats  for  food  : 


r^ 


TH£  FOUitAQES.  Ufi^ 

kw'jOMimlSme^  wof  the  desire  of  wealtU 
By  met  impMiab^ble  or  by  ftoalth, 
And  if  the  genwAe  worth  of  goid  depeB4 
On  appUcaAion  to  ite  nebleet  end» 
Thine  had  a  valiw  in  the  acalea  of  HeaY*n» 
BnipaMing  all  that  mmr  or  mint  W  |^y*su 
And,  though  God  mude  thee  of  a  n»jtiffe  FS«i# 
To  distribntion  bo^jpcUeie  of  thy  own. 
And  still  by  mo^yes  of  religiou*  forc9 
Impell'd  thee  xaom  to  that  heroick  coacsei^ 
Tet  was  thy  liberality  diecraat^ 
Nice  in  its  choice,  and  of  a  tempered  heaft  ; 
And  though  in  act  unwearied,  secret  still, 
As  in  some  fcditnde  the  wmmer  rHl    . 
Refreshes,  where  it  winds,  the  laded  green, 
And  cheere  the  drooping  flowers,  unheard,  um»afi^ 

Saoh  WM  thy  Charity ;  no  sudden  start^ 
After  long  sleap  «f  oaaBon  in  the  heart, 
But  steadfast  p^ndple,  «id»  in  U«  hiodit 
Of  close  relation  to  th'  eternal  mind, 
Traced  easily  te  its  true  senroe  abovf* 
To  him,  whose  wedui  bespeak  hia  nature,  hov% 

Thy  bounties  all  were  Chriotian,  und  I  maJM 
This  record  of  thee  for  the  Gospel's  soke  i 
That  the  iacredulomi  themielyen  may  a$« 
Its  use  and  power  exemplified  in  thee* . 


THE  FOUR  AGES. 

.  [dtf  brief  fragmenf  of  an  extensive  projected  Poem.  I 

**  I  could  be  well  content,  allow'd  the  use 
Of  past  experience,  and  the  wisdom  gleaned 
From  worn-out  follies,  now  acknowledged  suoh^ 
To  recommence  life's  trial  in  the  hopo 
Of  fewer  orrours,  on  a  second  proof" 

Vol.111.  13 


140  THE  FOUR  AGES 

Thus,  while  ipray  eToning  luU*d  the  wtad,  and  caBfd 
Fresh  odoura  from  the  ^ubb*ry  at  my  tide. 
Taking  my  lonely  winding  walk,  I  roiu'd, 
And  held  accustom'd  conference  with  my  heart, 
When,  fromwithhi  it,  thus  a  Toice  replied. 
"  Couldst  thou  in  truth  '  and  art  theu  taught  at  length 
Thi^  widdoin,  and  hut  this,  from  all  the  past ' 
Is  not  the  pardon  of  thy  long  arrear, 
Time  wasted,  violated  laws,  abuse 
Of  talents,  judgments,  mercies,  better  far 
Than  opportunity  vouchsaTd  to  err 
With  less  excuse,  and  haply,  worse.  eShct  ?** 

I  heard,  and  acquiesced ;  then  to  and  fro 
Oft  pacing,  as  the  mariner  his  deck. 
My  gravTly  bounds,  from  self  to  humi^  kind 
I  paas*d,  and  next  considered —what  is  Man  ? 

Knows  he  his  origin  ?  can  he  ascend 
By  reminiscence  to  his  e^liest  date  ? 
Slept  he  in  Adam  ?  and  in  thof^e  from  him 
Tlurough  num*rous  generations,  tin  he  found' 
At  length  his  destined  moment  to  be  bom  ? 
Or  was  he  not,  till  fashion'd  in  the  womb  ? 
Deep  myst'ries  both !  ^ich  schoolmen  much  have  103*4 
T6  unriddle,  and  have  left  them  myst'ries  stiH. 

It  is  an  evil  incident  to  man, 
And  of  the  worst,  that  unexplor'd  he  leaves 
Truths  useful  and  attainable  with  ease,    . 
To  search  forbidden  deeps,  where  myst*ry  liee 
Not  to  be  solvM,  and  useless  if  it  might. 
Myst'ries  are  food  for  angels ;  they  digest 
With  ease',  and  find  them  nutriment ;  but  man. 
While  yet  he  dwells  below,  must  stoop  to  glean 
His  manna  from  the  ground^  or  starve  and  die 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF"  THE  POETS 

Wfoy,1791.] 

Two  njrinphs,  both  nearly  of  an  age, 

Of  numerous  charms  possoss'd, 
A  warm  dispute  once  chanc'd  to  wage. 

Whose  temper  was  the  best. 

The  worth  of  each  had  been  complete 

Had  both  aUke  been  mild. 
But  one,  although  her  smile  was  swjdeft^ 

Frown'd  oflencx.than  she  smil'd. 

And  in  her  homour,  when  she  frowned 

Would  raise  her  voice  and  roar. 
And  shake  with  fury  to  the  ground 

The  garland  that  she  wore. 

The  other  was  of  gentler  cast, 

From  all  such  frenzy  clear, 
Her  frowns  were  seldom  known  to  last, 

And  never  prov'd  severe. 

To  poets  of  renown  in  song 

The  nymphs  referred  the  cause, 
Who,  strange  to  tell,  all  judg*d  it  wrong, 

And  gave  misplaced  applause. 

They  gentle  caird,  and  kind  and  soft. 

The  flippant  and  the  scold, 
And  though  she  changed  her  mood  so  oft, 

That  failing  left  untold. 


9i&3S0«: 


148     THE  JUDGMENT  OF  THE  POETBI 
No  jadgesi  suroi  were  o'er  so  mad, 

Or  «o  resolv'd  to  err — 
In  shorty  the  charms  her  sister  had 

They  lavish'd  all  on  her. 

Then  thus  the  god  whom  foUdly  they 

Their  great  inspirer  call, 
Was  heard,  one  geidal  sBmmer*s  day. 

To  reprimand  them  alL 

*>  Since  thus  ye  havd  combin*d,^  he  mU, 
**  My  farourite  nymph  to  sl^t. 

Adorning  May,  that  peeviah  maid, 
yiith  June's  undoubted  ri^t. 

•*  The  Minx  shall  for  your  foll/s  taks 

Still  prove  herself  a  direw, 
Shan  make  your  scribbling  fingert  acbi^ 

And  pinch  yovriKMMUM. 


t    t^. 


^sss^seB 


TJUNSLATIONS 
LATIN  AND  ITALIAN  PQEMS 

CF 

MELTON. 

B9gw^  September^  1791.    Fim$^$4,  Marek^  1798.) 
18* 


lb 


(150) 


TEAKSLATIONS 


THE  L.ATIN  POEMS, 


ELEGIES. 


ELEGY L 

TO  CHARLES  DIODATL 

At  length,  my  frSnd,  the  far  sent  letters  come 

Charged  with  thy  kmdness,  to  their  destined  home ; 

They  come,  at  length,  from  Deva's  Western  side 

Where  prone  she  seeks  the  salt  Vergivian  tide. 

Tmst  me,  my  joy  is  great  that  thou  shouldst  be, 

Thongh  bom  of  foreign  race,  yet  bom  for  me, 

And  that  my  sprightly  friend,  now  free  to  roam, 

Must  seek  again  so  soon  his  wonted  home. 

I  well  content,  where  Thames  with  refluent  tide, 

My  native  city  laves,  meantime  reside, 

Nor  zeal  npr  duty,  now,  my  steps  impel 

To  reedy  Cam,  and  my  ferbidden  celL 

Nor  aught  of  pleasure  in  those  fields  have  I, 

That,  to  the  musing  bard,  all  shade  deny. 


^<a' 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MTLTOW.      15. 
Tis  time,  that  I,  a  pediftnt*b  ^irettU  diddtan, 
And  fly  from  wrohgs  my  a<9Q\  will  n^'et  MUfttthf. 
If  peaceful  days,  in  lettor'd  leiftiire  «|)Mit^ 
Beneath  my  Iktlier^i  roof,  be  baniehment, 
Then  call  me  baniinh'd,  I  win  no^er  reftWe 
A  name  exj^niaiiiv^  of  the  lot  I  chckMe. 
I  would,  that,  exiled  to  the  FofiUbk  cihdris, 
Rome's  hapleal  bard  had  ^fkri  n&hflkg  looMi 
He  then  had  equallM  even  Homer  V  lays. 
And  Virgil !  thou  hadflt  won  but  second  pndsd 
For  here  I  woo  the  mtrte ;  with  no  eontrel, 
And  hero  mj  books^-'-my  fife^^absorb  mil  whok 
Here  too  I  visit,  or  to  smilb,  or  weep, 
The  winding  theatre^  hu^Mtiek  sweep  , 
Hie  gnrre  or  gay  eolloquial  scene  reeraito 
My  spirits,  speht  m  learning's  k>ng  piuHidit^  ; 
Whether  some  senior  shrewd,  or  spendthHft  heilr 
Suitor,  or  soldier,  now  miarm'd,  be  theroi 
Or  some  coiTd  brooder  o'er  a  ten  y^aaM'  eailsi6, 
Thunder  the  Norman  gibb'rish  of  the  laws. 
The  lacquey,  there,  oil  dupes  the  wary  sire, 
And,  ar^ul,  speeds  th'  enamour'd  son's  destre* 
There,  Tirgins  oft,  unieohidiijaif  Whatthe^  pttff^. 
What  lore  is,  Imo^  not,  yet  taHkac^r^j  loraf. 
Or,  if  impassion^  Tkgedy  Wiald  high 
The  bloody  sceptre,  give  hei*  lockii  to  Hif 
Wild  as  the  winds,  and  r^ll  h^r  1iaggai<d  c^^ 
I  gaze,  and  grier^j  stUl  ehafisking  my  gri^. 
At  times,  e'en  bittet  tears !  jf4e1d  sweet  rdi^if. 
As  when  fttan  Misa  tmtasfed  torn  away, 
Some  youth  dieis,  hapletls,  on  hb  bHdal  day. 
Or  when  the  ghoiit,  i»nt  back  to  i^ades  below, 
Fills  the  assassin's  heart  With  rtogeftil  wo. 
When  Troy,  or  Argos,  the  dire  i^cene  aflbrds, 
Or  Creon's  haK  laments  its  guilty  Ic^ds. 
Nor  always  city-pent,  or  pent  at  home, 
I  dwell ',  but,  when  spring  callti  mefbrth'tb  team 


m     TRAKSLATIOHS  FROM  MjI^TO^. 

Expatiate  in  our  proud  suburban  shades 
Of  brandling  elm,  that  noTer  sun  pervades. 
Here  manj  a  Tirgin  troop  I  may  descry. 
Like  stars  of  mildest  influence,  gliding  by. 
Oh  forms  dlYine !  Oh  looks  that  might  inspire 
E'en  JoTO  himself,  grown  old,  with  young  desire ' 
Oft  have  I  gaaed  on  gem*surpassing  eyes, 
Ont-spacklii^  every  star  that  gilds  the  skies. 
Necks  whiter  than  the  ivMry  arm  bestowed 
Bj  Jove  on  Felops,  or  the  milky  road  I 
Bright  locks,  liove's  golden  snare  !.  those  fiUUng  low 
Those  playing  wanton  o*er  the  graceful  brow ! 
Cheeks  too,  more  winning  sweet  than  afler  show'r 
Adonis  tum*d  to  Flora's  fay'rite  flower ! 
Yield,  heroines,  yield,  and  ye  who  shar'd  th*  embrace 
Of  Jupiter  in  ancient  times,  give  place !    . 
Give  place,  ye  turbann'd  fair  of  Persia's  coast ! 
And  ye,  not  less  renown'd,  Assyria's  boast  I 
Submit,  ye  nymphl*  of  Greece !  ye,  once  ^e  bloom 
Of  Uion !  and  aU  ye,  of  haughty  Rome. 
Who  swept,  of  iMf  her  theatres  with  txaing 
Redundant,  and  still  live  in  elassldi  strains  *. 
To  British  damiek  beanty's  palm  is  dua. 
Aliens  i  jta-feUow  them  if  lame  for  yow^  ..  <  . 
Oh  city,  founded  by  Dardaaian  hands, 
Whose  toweriag  £rant  the  circling  realm  coittmands,^ 
Too  blest  abode !  no  loveliness  we  see 
In  all  the  earth,  but  it  abounds  in  thee. 
The  virgin  multitude  that  daily  meets, 
Radiant  with  gold  and  beauty,  in  thy  streets. 
Out-numbers  all  her  train  of  starry  fires. 
With  which  Diana  gilds  thy  lofly  pfUTes. 
Fame  says,  that  wafted -hither  by  hor  doves. 
With  all  her  host  of  quiver>bearing  loves, 
Venus,  preferring  Paphian  scenes  no  more, 
Has  fiz'd  her  empire  on  thy  nobler  shore. 
But  lest  the  sightless  boy  enforce  my  stay, 
leave  these  happv  walJs,  Trhile'yet  I^may 


^ 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON.     153 
Immortal  Moly  shatl  lecure  my  heart 
From  all  tho  8or6'ry  of  Circcan  art, 
And  ^will  e'en  repass  Cam's  reedy  pools 
To  fteo  oAee  more  tho  warfkre  of  the  schools. 
MMMime  sooept  tbu  trifle !  rhymo*  though  feir, 
Yet  such  as  prore  thy  &ioiid')B  remembrance  true 


£L£GT  U. 


DEATH  OP  THE  UNIVERSITY  BEADI-E 
AT  CAMBRIDGE. 

Composed  by  Milton  €n  tKt  i7tk  year  of  his  age 

Thex,  whose  refulgent  staff,  and  summons  clear, 
Minerva**  flock  long  lime  was  wont  t'  obey, 

Although  thyself  an  herald,  famous  here, 

The  last  of  heralds.  Death,  lias  snatch'd  away. 

He  calls  on  all  alike,  nor  even  deigns 

To  spare  the  office,  that  himself  sustains. 

Thy  locks  were-  whiter  than  the  plumes  displayed 

By  Lcda's  paramour  in  ancient  time, 
But  thou  wast  worthy  ne'er  to  have  decay'd, 

Or  JEson-like,  to  know  a  sccoml  prime, 
Worthy,  for  whom  some  goddess  shall  have  won 
New  life,  oil  kneeling  to  Apollo's  son. 

CVmmiission'd  to  convene,  with  hasty  call. 
The  gowned  tribes,    how  gracef\il  #o«itdst 
■tttid! 

80  stood  Cytleitius  erst  in  Priam's  hall, 
WiHg4boted  messenger  of  Jove**  command ! 


51      TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON, 

Aod  so  Eurybatesi  when  he  addressed 
To  Poleus*  son,  Atrides*  proud  behest. 

Dread  qoeen  of  sepulchres  !  whose  rig'roiui  latwi. 

And  watchful  eyeUf  ran  through  the  reshns  belMf. 
Oh  oCt  too  adverse  to  Mmerva.*s  cause ! 

Too  often  to  the  muse  not  less  a  foe  ! 
Choose  meaner  marks,  and  with  more  equal  aim 
Pierce  useless  drones,  earUi's  burthen,  and  its  shanio 

Flow,  therefore,  tears  for  him,  from  ev'iy  eye, 

All  ye  disciples  of  the  muses,  weep  ! 
Assembling,  all,  in  robes  of  sable  die, 

Around  his  bier,  lament  his  endless  sleep  \ 
And  let  complaining  elegy  rehearse, 
In  erery  sehool,  her  sweetest,  saddest  Yerso  ' 


ELEGY  HI. 

ow 

THE  DEATH 

or  THE 

BISHOP  OF  WINCHESTER. 

Composed  in  the  Autlwr^a  17lh  year, 

Sif^NT  I  sat,  dejected,  and  alone, 

Making,  in  thought,  the  publick  woes  my  •wn. 

When,  first,  arose  tho,  imago  in  my  breast 

Of  England's  suffering  by  that  scourge,  the-  PesI ! 


=J 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON.       155 
How  death  I  his  fonYal  torch  and  sithe  in  hand, 
Entering  the  lordliest  mansions  of  the  land 
Has  laid  the  gem'illuniin'd  palace  low. 
And  lei^ell'd  tribes  of  nobles  at  a  blow.  * 

J,  next,  deplor'd  the  fam'd  paternal  pair, 
Too  soon  to  ashes  tarn'd,  and  smpty  air  i 
The  heroes  next,  whom  saatch'd  into  tha  skieSy 
All  Belgta  saw,  and  followed  witk  her  aigliSf 
But  thee  far  most  I  mourn'd,  regretted  roost, 
Winton's  chief  shepherd,  and  her  worthiett  boast ! 
Pour 'd  out  in  tears  I  thus  complaining  said ; 
''  Death,  next  in  pow*r  to  him,  who  rules  the  dead ' 
Is*t  not  enough  that  all  the  woodlands  yield 
To  thy  fen  Ibrce,  and  eT*ry  Verdant  field, 
That  lilies,  at  one  noisome  blast  of  thine, 
And  e'en  the  Cjrprian  queen's  own  roses  pine, 
That  oaks  themselves,  although  the  running  rill 
Suckle  their  roots,  must  wither  at  thy  will, 
That  all  the  winged  nations,  eveusthoee,- 
Whose  heaT*n-directed  flight  the  future  shows, 
And  all  the  beasts,  that  in  dark  forests  stray. 
And  all  the  herds  of  Proteus  are  thy  prey. 
Ah  envious !  arm*d  with  pow'rs  so  unoonfin'd ! 
Why  stain  thy  hands  with  blood  of  human  kind  ? 
Why  take  delight  with  darts,  that  never  roam. 
To  chase  a  heav*n-bora  spbni  from  her  home  ^" 


While  thus  I  moumM  the  star  of  evening  stood, 
Now  newly  ris'n  above  the  western  flood. 
And  Phoebus,  from  his  morning-goal,  again 
Had  reached  the  gulfs  of  the  Iberian  main. 
I  wish'd  repose,  and,  on  my  couch  dedin'd, 
Took  early  rocrt,  to  night  and  sleep  resigned : 
When — Oh  for  words  to  paint  what  I  beheld  * 
I  seem'd  to  wander  in  a  spacious  field,  - 
Where  all  the  champaign  glow'd  with  purple  light 
Like  that  of  sun-rise  on  the  mountain  height : 


186      TRANSi.ATiOJNS  FKOM  MUTTON* 
Flowers  oyer  all  the  fields  of  every  hue 
That  ever  Iris  wore,  luxurumit  grew. 
Nor  Chloris,  with  whom  am'roqs  Zephyrs  j^ji 
E*er  dressed  Alcinoos'  gviMk  h»lf  so  gay. 
A  silver  current,  Hke  the  Tagus,  roU'd 
O'er  golden  sands,  bvit^ndf  of  purer  gold* 
With  dewy  am  Favoaios  iMin'd  the  flow>^ 
With  airs  awakened  under  rosy  bow'rs. 
8uoh,  poets  feign,  irradiatod  all  o'er 
The  son's  abode  on  India's  utmost  shorf . 


While  I,  that  splendour,  and  the  nungled  shiM^e 
Of  fruitful  vines,  with  wonder  fo*4  siinrey'df 
At  once,  with  looks  that  beamed  eeVesiUl  gtacei^ 
The  seer  of  Wialon  stood  before  my  iKU^e. 
His  snowy  vosture's  hom  desoendlng  low  * 
His  golden  samlols  swept,  aiid  pure  as  suow 
New-fallen  shone  the  mitre  on  his  brow. 
Where'er  helrod,  a  tremulous  sweet  souiifif 
Of  gla^Mss  shook  the  llow'ry  scene  arouod  « 
Attendant  angels  clap  their  starry  wings, 
The  trumpet  shakes  the  sky,  all  letber  rings , 
Each  chants  his  welcome,  folds  him  to  his  breftst^ 
And  thos  a  sweeter  voice  thftn  all  the  rest : 
"  Ascend,  my  son  1  thy  father's  kingdom  share  t 
My  son !  hence£»cth  be  freed  from  ^v'rj  care !" 

So  spake  the  voice,  and  »t  Hs  tender  cIoM 
With  psalt'ry*8  sound  th'  imgetUck  band  arose. 
Then  night  retired,  and  chas'd  by  dawiung  day 
The  visionary  bliss  pass'd  aU  away. 
I  mourn'd  my  banish'd  sleep,  with  fond  concom  ; 
Frequent  to  me  may  droAms  like  this  return 


(157) 
ELEGY  IV. 

TO   HIS  TVTOB, 

THOMAS  YOUNG, 

CHAPfJLIN  TO  THS  EXTGLISH  FACTORY  AT  »AMlitni6 

ff^titten  in  the  Author^s  18f/t  year, 

Hkhcx  my  epistle — skim  the  deep — ^fly  o'er 
Yon  smooth  expanse  to  the  Teutonick  shore  ! 
Haste — ^lest  a  friend  should  grieve  for  thy  dclay-^ 
And  the  gods  grant,  that  nothing  thwart  thy  way 
1  will  myself  iuToke  the  king,  who  binds. 
In  his  Sieanian  echoing  vaalt,  the  winds, 
With  Doris  and  her  nymphs,  and  all  the  throng 
Of  azure  gods,  to  speed  thee  safe  along. 
But  rather,  to  ensure  thy  happier  Iiasto, 
Ascend  Medea's  chariot,  if  thou  may'st ; 
Or  that,  whence  young  Triptolemus  of  yore 
Defcended,  welcome  on  the  Scylthian  shore 

The  sands,  that  line  the  German  coast,  descried, 
To  opulent  Hamhurga  turn  aside ! 
So  called,  if  legendary  fame  be  true. 
From  Hama,  whom  a  club-arm'd  Cimbrian  slew  \ 
There  lives,  deep-learn'd  and  primitively  just, 
A  faithful  steward  of  his  christian  trust, 
My  friend,  and  favourite  inmate  of  niy  heart. 
That  now  is  forced  to  want  its  better  part ! 
What  mountains  now,  and  seas,  alas  !  how  wide  ' 
From  me  this  other,  dearer  self  divide  ; 
Dear  as  the  sage  renown'd  for  moral  truth 
To  the  prime  spirit  of  the  attick  youth  ' 

Vol.  III.  14 


i 


158      TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON 
Dear  as  the  Stagy  rite  to  Amnion's  son, 
His  pupil,  who  disdain'd  the  world  ho  won  ! 
Nor  BO  did  Chiron,  or  so  Phoenix  shine 
In  yonng  Achilles*  eyes,  as  he  in  mine.' 
First  led  by  him  thro'  sweet  Aonian  sliadc, 
Each  sacred  hannt  ef  Pindus  I  surveyed  , 
And  favoured  by  the  muse  whom  I  implor'd, 
Thrice  on  my  lip  the  hallow'd  stream  I  pour'd. 
But  thrice  the  sun's  resplendent  chariot  roll'd 
To  Aries,  has  new  ting'd  his  fleece  witli  gold. 
And  Chloris  twice  has  dross'd  tJie  meadows  gay. 
And  twice  has  summer  parch'd  their  bloom  away, 
Since  last  delighted  on  his  looks  I  hung, 
Or  my  ear  drank  the  musick  of  his  tongue ; 
Fly,  therefore,  and  surpass  the  tempest's  speed  > 
Aware  thyself,  that  there  is  urgent  need ! 
Uim,  entering,  thou  shalt  hUply  seated  see 
Beside  his  spouse,  liis  infants  on  his  knee. 
Or  turning,  page  by  page,  with  studious  look. 
Some  bulky  father,  or  God's  holy  book. 
Or  minist'ring  (which  is  his  weightiest  care) 
To  Christ^s  assembled  flock  their  heavenly  fare 
Give  him,  whatever  his  employment  be, 
Such  gratulation  as  he  claims  from  me  I 
And,  with  a  downcast.cye,  and.  carriage  uieok. 
Addressing  him,  forget  not  thus  to  speak  ! 

"  If,  compassed  round  with  arms,  thou  caju't  altc)i4 
To  verse,  verse  greets  thee  from  a  distant  frivud. 
Long  due,  and  late,  I  left  the  English  shore  ; 
But  m{(ke  me  welcome  for  that  cause  the  inorc  I 
Such  from  Ulysses,  his  chaste  wife  to  cheer 
The  slow  epistle  came,  tliough  late,  sincere 
But  wherefore  this  ?  why  palliate  I  the  dcea 
For  which  the  culprit's  self  could  hardly  plead  i 
Self-charged,  and  self-condemn 'd,  his  proper  part 
He  feels  neglected,  with  an  aching  heart : 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON.       159 
Bat  thou  forgive — delinquents,  who  confess, 
And  pray  forgiveness,  merit  anger  less ; 
From  timid  fo(js,  the  lion  turns  away, 
Nor  yawns  upon  or  rends  a  crouching  prey : 
£yen  pike-wielding  Thracians  learn  to  spare, 
Won  by  soft  influence  of  a  suppliant  prayer  ; 
And  hoay'n's  dread  thunderbolt  arrested  stands 
By  a  cheap  victim,  and  Uplifted  hands. 
Long  had  he  wish'd  to  write,  but  was  withheld, 
And  writes  at  last,  by  love  alone  compell'd, 
For  fame,  too  often  true,  when  she  alarms, 
Rcpo't?  tliy  neighbouring  fields  a  scene  of  arms  j. 
Thy  city  against  fierce  besiegers  barr'd. 
And  all  the  Saxon  chieft  for  fight  prepar'd. 
Enyo  wastes  thy  country  wide  around. 
And  saturates  with  blood  the  tainted  ground ; 
Mars  rests  contented  in  his  Thrace  i^o  more, 
But  goads  his  steeds  to  fields  of  German  goro. 
The  ever  verdant  olive  fades  and  dies. 
And  peace,  the  trumpet-hating  goddess,  flies, 
Flies  from  that  earth  which  justice  long  had  left, 
And  loaves  the  world  of  its  last  guard  bereft. 

Thus  horrour  girds  thee  round.    Meantime  aloxM 
Thou  dwell'st,  and  liel{fless  in  a.^oil  unknown ; 
Poor  and  receiving  from  a  foreign  hand 
The  aid  denied  thee  in  thy  native  land. 
Oh,  ruthless  country,  and  unfeeling  more 
Than  thy  own  billow-beaten  chalky  shore ! 
Leav*st  thou  to  foreign  care  the  worthies,  giv'ii 
By  Providence  to  guide  thy  steps  to  Heav'n  ' 
His  ministers  commission'd  to  proclaim 
£ternal  blessings  in  a  Saviour's  name  ! 
Ah  then  most  worthy,  with  a  soul  unfed, 
[n  Stygian  night  to  lie  for  ever  dead. 
So  once  the  venerable  Tishbite  stray'd 
An  exird  fugitive  from  shade  to  shade,  ^ 


160      TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON. 
When,  flying  Ahab,  and  his  fury  wife,  • 
In  long  Arabian  wilda  he  sheltered  life  > 
So,  from  Philippic  wander 'd  forth  forlorn 
Cillcian  Paul,  with  sounding  scourges  torn ; 
And  Christ  himself  so -left,  and  trod  no  more,    ' 
The  thankless  Gergesenes'  forbidden  shore. 

But  thou  take  courage  I.  strive  against  despair ! 
Quake  not  with  dread,  nor  nourisK  anxious  care 
Grim  war  indeed  on  every  side  appears, 
And  thou  art  menaced  by  a  thousand  spears ; 
Tet  none  shall  drink  thy  blood,  or  shall  offisndi 
£*en  the  defenceless  bosom  of  my  friend. 
For  thee  the  £gis  of  thy  God  shall  hide, 
Jehovah*s  self  shall  combat  on  tliy  side  } 
The  same,  who  vanquish 'd,  under  Sion*s  tow*rt 
At  silent  midnight,  all  Assyrians  pow'rs, 
The  same  who  overtlirew  in  ages  past, 
Damascus'  sons  that  laid  Samaria  waste  ! 
Their  king  he  fiU'd,  and  tliem  with  fatal  fears, 
By  mimick  sounds  of  clarions  in  their  ears. 
Of  hoofs,  and  wheels,  and  neighings  from  afiuri 
Of  clashing  armour,  and  the  din  of  war. 

Thou,  therefore,  (os  the  most  afflicted)  may 
Still  hope,  and  triumph  o'er  the  evil  day ; 
Look  fortli,  expecting  happier  times  to  com^ 
And  to  enjoy, 'once  more,  thy  native  home  * 


Vl61) 


ELEGY  V. 


APPROACH  OF  SPRING. 


Written  in  the  Author's  20th  Year. 

TiME)  never  wandTing  from  his  annual  round. 
Bids  Zephyr  breathe  the  spring,  and  thaw  the  grounii 
Bleak  winter  flies,  new  verdure  clothes  the  plain, 
And  earth  assumes  her  transient  youth  again* 
Dream  I,  or  also  to  the  spring  belong 
Increase  of  genius,  and  new  pow'rs  of  song  ? 
Spring  gives  them,  and  how  strange  soe'er  it  seemSi 
Impels  me  now  to  some  hjirmonious  themes. 
Castalia's  fountain  and  the  forkedJiill 
By  day,  by  night,  my  raptur'd  fancy  fill ; 
My  bosom  bums  and  heaves,  I  hear  within 
A  sacred  sound,  that  prompts  me  to  begin. 
Lo !  Phebus  comes,  with  his  bright  hair  he  blends  - 
The  radiant  laurel  wreath  ;  Phoebus  descends; 
I  mount,  and,  undepressed  by  cumb  reus  clay. 
Through  cloudy  regions  win  my  easy  way ; 
Hapt  through  poetick  shadowy  haunts  I  fly  * 
The  shrines  all  open  to  my  dauntless  eye. 
My  spirit  searches  all  the  realms  of  light, 
And  no  Tartarean  gulfs  elude  my  sight. 
But  this  ecstatick  trance — this  glorious  storm 
Of  inspiration — ^what  will  it  perform  ? 
Spring  claims  the  verse,  that  with  his  influence  giowk^ 
And  shall  be  paid  with  what  himself  bestows. 


168      TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON. 

Thou,  yeird  with  opMing  foliacre,  lead'st  the  thnmi 
Of  feather'd  minstrols,  Philomel !  in  8ong  ; 
Let  OS,  in  concert,  to  the  season  sing, 
C^viok,  and  sylyan  heralds  of  the  spring  ! 

With  notes  triamphiCnt,  spring's  approach  deckre 
To  spring,  70  Muses,  annual  tribute  bear ! 
The  Orient  left,  and  JEthiopia's  plains, 
The  son  now  northward  turns  his  golden  reins ; 
Night  creeps  not  now ;  yet  roles  with  gentle  swaj ; 
And  drives  her  dusky  horrours  swift  away ; 
Now  less  fatigued,  on  this  ethereal  plain 
Bootes  follows  his  celestial  wain ; 
And  now  the  radiant  sentinels  aboTe, 
Less  num*rous,  watch  around  the  courts  of  Jove, 
For,  with  the  night,  force,  ambush',  slaughter  fly 
And  no  gigantick  guilt  alarms  the  sky. 
Now  haply  says  some  shepherd,  while  he  views. 
Recumbent  on  a  rock,  the  redd'ning  dews, 
This  night,  this  surely,  Phoibus  miss'd  the  fair, 
Who  stops  his  chariot  by  her  am*rous  care. 
Cynthia,  delighted  by  the  moming^s  glow. 
Speeds  to  the  woodland,  and  resumes  her  bow , 
Resigns  her  beams,  and  glad  to  disappear. 
Blesses  his  aid,  who  shortens  her  career. 
Come — ^Phoebus  cries — ^Aurora  come---too  late 
Thou  ling*rest  sluipb^ring  with  thy  withered  mate ' 
Leaye  him,  and  to  Hymettu's  top  repair .' 
Thy  darling  Cephalus  expects  thee  there. 
The  goddess,  with  a  blush,  her  love  betrays, 
But  mounts,  and  driving  rapidly,  obeys. 
Earth  now  desires  thee,  Phoebus !  and  t'  engage 
Thy  warm  embrace,  casts  off  the  guise  of  age .; 
Desires  thee,  and  deserves  ;  for  who  so  sweet. 
When  her  rich  bosom  courts  thy  genial  heat  r 
Her  breath  imparts  to  ev'ry  breeze  that  blows, 
Aralua's  harvest,  and  the  Paphian  rose. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON.       163 
finr  loflty  front  she  diadems  around 
With  sacred  j^nes,  lik\3  Ops  on  Ida  erown*d : 
Her  dewy  locks,  wiUi  varioas  ilow'rs  new-blown, 
She  mterweayes,  varioas,  and  all  her  own. 
For  Proserpine,  in  sach  a  wreath  attir'd, 
Tmiarian  Dis  himself  with  love  inspired. 
Fear  not,  lest,  cold  and  coy,  the  nymph  refuse ! 
Herself,  with  all  her  sighing  Zephyrs,  sues ; 
Each  courts  thee,  fannmg  soft  his  scented  wing. 
And  all  her  groves  with  warUed  wishes  ring. 
Now,  unendowed  and  indigent,  aspires. 
The  am'roufl  Earth  to  engage  thy  warm  desires, 
But,  rich  in  balmy  drugs,  assist  thy  claim, 
Divine  Physician !  to  that  glorious  name, 
If  splendid  recompense,  if  gifts  can  move 
Desii^  in  thee,  (gifts  often  purchase  love,) 
She  offers  all  the  wealth  her  mountains  hide, 
And  all  that  rests  beneath  the  boundless  tide. 
How  oft,  when  headlong  from  the  heavenly  steep, 
She  sees  the«  playing  in  the  western  deep, 
How  oft  she  cries — ^*  Ah  Phoebus  I  why  repair 
Thy  wasted  forc^,  why  seek  refreshment  there ! 
Can  Tetbys  win  thee  ?  wherefore  shouldst  thou  lave 
A  face  so  fair  in  her  unpleasant  wave  ? 
Come,  seek  my  green  tetreats,  and  rather  choose 
To  cool  thy  tresses  in  my  crystal  dewS| 
The  grassy  turf*  shall  yield  thee  sweeter  rest ; 
Come,  lay  thy  evening  glories  on  my  breast, ' 
And  breathing  fresh,  throtiLgh  many  a  hmmd  rose 
Boft  whispering  airs  shall  lull  thee  to  repose  1 
No  fears  I  feel  like  Semele  to  die, 
Nor  let  thy  burning  wheels  approach  too  nigh, 
For  thou  canst  govern  them,  here  therefore  rest 
And  lay  thy  evening  glories  on  my  breast  ?" 

Thus  breathes  the  wanton  earth  her  am'rous  flame, 
And  all  her  countless  offspring  feel  the  same ; 


164       TRANSLATiOXS  FROM  MILTON. 

For  Cupid  now  Uirovgh  overy  region  8trayS| 

BrigUt'niog  his  faded  fires  with  solar  rays. 

His  new-straag  bow  sends  forth  a  deadlier  soundi 

And  his  new-pointed  shafts  more  deeply  wound , 

Nor  Dian's  self  escapes  him  now  untried, 

Nor  even  Vesta  at  her  altar-side ; 

His  mother  too  repairs  her  beauty's  wane, 

And  seems  sprung  newly  from  the  deep  again. 

Exulting  youths  the  Hymeneal  sing. 

With  Hymen's  name  roofs,  rocks,  and  valleys,  ringj 

Ho,  new-attirod,  and  by  the  season  dress 'd. 

Proceeds,  all  fragrant,  in  his  saffron  vest. 

Now,  many  a  golden-cinctur'd  virgin  roves 

To  taste  the  pleasures  of  the  fields  and  groves, 

All  wish,  and  each  alike,  some  fav'rite  youth 

Hers  in  the  bonds  of  Hymeneal  truth. 

Now  pipes  the  shepherd  through  his  reeds  again, 

Nor  riilllis  wants  a  song,  that  suits  the  strain, 

With  songs  the  seaman  hails  the  starry  sphere. 

And  dolphins  rise  from  the  abyss  to  hear  ; 

Jove  feels  himself  the  season,  sporty  again 

With  his  fair  spouse,  and  banquets  all  his  tiain. 

Now  too  the  Satyrs,  in  the  -dusk  of  eve, 

Their  mazy  dance  through  flow'ry  meadows  wcav»  . 

And  neither  god  nor  goat,  but  both  in  kind, 

Silvanus  wreath'd  with  cypress,  skips  behind. 

The  Dryads  leave  their  hollow  sylvan  cells 

To  roam  the  banks,  and  solitary  dells ; 

Pan  riots  now ;  and  from  his  amorous  chafe 

Ceres  and  Cybele  seem  hardly  safe^ 

And  Faimus,  all  on  fire  .o  reach  the  prize, 

In  cliase  of  somo  enticing  Oread-  dies ; 

She  bounds  before,  but  fears  too  swifl  a  bound, 

And  hidden  lies,  but  wishes  to  je  found. 

Our  shades  entice  th'  Immortals  from  above, 

And  some  kind  pow'r  presides  o'er  every  grove ', 

And  long,  ye  pow'rs,  o'er  every  grove  presidp, 

For  all  is  safe,  and  bliss,  where  ve  abide  ' 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON.       105 
Return,  O  Jove  !  the  age  of  ffold  restore- 
Why  choose  to  dwell  where  storms  and  thunders  roar ' 
At  least,  thou,  Phcebus  !  moderate  thy  speed ! 
Let  not  the  vernal  hours  too  swift  proeeed, 
Command  rough  winter  back,  nor  yield  the  pole 
Too  soon  to  Night's  encroaching  long  control  * 


ELEGY  VI. 

TO  CHARLES  DiODATI, 

Who,  while  be  spent  his  Christmas  in  the  countiy,  sent  the 
Author  a  poetical  epistle,  in  which  he  requested  that  his 
venes,  if  not  so  good  as  usual,  might  be  excused  on  account 
of  the  many  feasts  to  which  his  friends  invited  him,  and  which 
would  not  allow  him  leisure  to  finish  them  as  he  wished. 

WrrH  no  rich  viands  overcharged,  I  send 
Health,  which  perchance  you  want,  my  pampef'd 

friend ; 
But  wherefore  ^ould  thy  muse  tempt  mine  away 
From  what  she  loves,  from  darkness  into  day  f 
Art  thou  desirous  to  be  told  how  well 
I  love  thee,  and  in  verse  ?  verse  cannot  tell .     • 
For  verse  has  bounds,  and  must  in  measure  move  , 
But  neither  bounds  nor  measure  knows  my  love. 
How  pleasant,  in  tny  lines  described,  appear 
December's  harmless  sports,  and  rural  chee^r ! 
French  spirits  kindling  with  cerulean  fires, 
And  all  such  gjambols  as  the  time  inspires  *     ' 

Think  not  that  wine  against  prood  verse  offends , 
The  muse  and  Bacchus  have  boon  nlways  friends, 


rCO       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON. 
Nor  Phoebus  blusJics  sometimes  to  be  found 
With  ivy,  than  with  laurel,  crown'd. 
The  Nine  themselves  ofttimes  have  join'd  tbo  eonf 
And  revels  of  tlie  Bacchanalian  throng; 
Not  even  Ovid  could  in  Scythian  air 
Sing  sweetly — why  ?  n'>  vine  would  flourish  there. 
What  in  brief  numbers  sung  Anacreon's  muse  ? 
Wine,  and  th^  rose,  that  sparkling  wine  bedews. 
Pindar  with  Bacchus  glows — ^his  every  line 
Breathes  the  rich  fragrance  of  inspiring  wine, 
While,  with  loud  crash  o'ertum'd,  the  chariot  ]ie% 
And  brown  with  dust  the  fiery  courser  flies. 
The  Roman  lyrist  stecp*d  in  wine  his  lays 
So  sweet  in  Glycera's,  and  Chloe's  praise. 
Now  to  the  plenteous  feast  and  mantling  bowl 
Nourish  the  vigour  of  thy  sprightly  soul ; 
The  flowing  goblet  makes  thy  numbers  flow, 
And  casks  not  wine  alone,  but  verse  bestow. 
Thus  Phoebus  favours,  and  the  arts  attend. 
Whom  Bacchus,  and  whom  Ceres,  both  befriend* 
What  wonder,  then,  thy  verses  are  so  sweet, 
In  which  these  triple  powers  so  kindly  meet ! 
The  lute  now  also  sound:!,  with  gold  inwrought) 
And  touch'd  ^  with  flying  fingers  nicely  taught, 
In  tap'stried  halls,  high  roord,  the  sprightly  lyre 
Directs  the  dancers  of  the  virgin  choir. 
ff  dull  repletion  fright  the  Muse  away, 
SJghi*!  e^y  as  these,  may  nore  invite  her  stay  > 
And,  trust  me,  while  the  iv'ry  keys  resound. 
Fair  damsels  sport,  and  perfumes  steam  around, 
Apollo's  influence,  like  ethereal  flame, 
Shall  animate  at  once  thy  glowing  frame, 
And  all  the  Muse  shall  rush  into  thy  breast. 
By  love  and  musick's  blended  pow'rs  possess'dy 
For  num'rous  power's  like  Elegy  befriend. 
Hoar  her  sweet  voice,  and  at  her  call  attend  ; 
Her  Bacchus,  Ceres,  Venus,  all  approve. 
And,  with  his  blushing  mother,  gentle  Love  • 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON.       167 
Hence  to  such  bards  we  grant  the  copious  use 
Of  banquets,  and  the  vine's  delicious  juice. 
Bat  they  who  demi-gods  and  heroes  praise, 
And  feats  perform'd  in  Jove's  more  youthful  days, 
Who  now  the  counsels  of  high  heaven  explore, 
Now  shades,  that  echo  the  Cerberean  roar, 
Simply  let  these,  like  him  of  Samos  live, 
Let  herbs  to  them  a  bloodless  banquet  give ;  • 

In  beechen  goblets  let  their  be v 'rage  shine, 
Cool  from  the  crystal  spring,  their  sober  wine  ! 
Their  y6uth  should  pass,  in  innocence,  secure 
From  stain  licentious,  and  in  manners  pure. 
Pure  as  the  priest,  when  rob'd  in  white  he  stands. 
The  fresh  lustration  ready  in  his  hands. 
Thus  LimuB  liv'd,  and  thus,  as  poets  write, 
Tiresias,  wiser  for  his  loss  of  sight ! 
Thus  exii'd  Chalcas,  thus  the  bard  of  Thrace, 
Melodious  tamer  of  the  savage  race  ! 
Thus  train'd  by  temp'rance,  Homer  led,  of  yore, 
His  chief  of  Ithaca  from  shore  to  shore. 
Through  magick  Circe's  monster-peopled  reign,       • 
And  shoals  insidious  with  the  syren  train; 
And  through  the  realms,  where  grizzly  spectres  dwell, 
Whose  tribes*  he  fetter'ddn  a  gory  spell ; 
For  these  are  sacred  bards,  and,  from  above, 
Drink  large  infusions  from  the  mind  of  Jove  ! 

Wouldst  thou,  (perhaps  'tis  hardly  worth  thine  ear, 
Wouldst  thou  be  told  my  occupation  here  ? 
The  promised  King  of  peace  employs  my  pen, 
Th*  eternal  cov'nant  made  for  guilty  men, 
The  new-born  Deity  with  infant  cries 
Filling  the  sordid  hovel,  where  he  lies ; 
The  hymning  angels,  and  the  herald  star. 
That  led  the  Wise,  who  sought  him  from  afar. 
And  idols  on  their  own  unhallow'd  shore 
Dash'd,  at  his  birth,  to  bo  revc!  d  no  more  t 


=1 


IG8      TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON. 

This  theme  on  reeds  of  Albion  I  rehearse : 
The  dawn  of  that  Mest  day  inspired  the  verse ; 
Verse,  that  reserv'd  in  secret  shall  attend 
Thy  candid  voice,  my  critick,  tXkd  my  firiend 


ELEGY  VIL 


Composed  tm  the  Attkor's  l^th  year. 

As  yet  k  stranger  to  the  gentle  fires. 
That  Amathoiia's  sinifing  queen  inspire^ 
Not  seldom  I  derided  Copid*s  darts, 
And  scom'd  his  claim  to  rule  tdl  Jiuman  hearts. 
**  Go,  child,"  I  said,  •*  transfix  the  tim'rous  dove ! 
An  easy  conquest  suits  an  infant  love ; 
Enslave  the  sparrow,  for  such  prize  shall  "bo 
.Sufficient  triumph  to  a  chief  like  thee ! 
Why  aim  thy  idle  arms  at  human  kind  ? 
Thy  shafts  prevail  not  'gainst  the  noble  mind." 

The  Cjrprian  hoard,  and,  kindling  into  ire, 
(None  kindles  sooner)  bum*d  with  double  fire. 

It  was  the  spring,  and  jiewly  risen  day 
Peep'd  o*er  the  hamlets  on  the  first  of  May ; 
My  eyes,  too  tender  for  the  blaxe  of  light. 
Still  sought  the  shelter  of  retiring  night, 
When  love  approach 'd  in  painted  plumes  arrayed, 
Th*  insidious  god  Iiis  rattling  darts  botray'd, 
Nor  loss  his  infant  features  and  the  sly, 
^weet  intimations  of  his  threatening  eye* 
Such  tl)e  Sigeian  boy  is  seen  above, 
^'^^'mg  thP  go\^lBi  for  imperial  Jove ; 


TRANShA'IlONS  FROM  MILTON.      1G9 
Bach  he,  on  whom  tho  nymphs  bcstow'd  tkeir  chalmi^ 
Hylas,  who  perished  in  a.  Naiad's  arms, 
Angry  he  aeem'd,  yet  gnjoofal  in  his  ire, 
And  added  threats,  not  destitoite  of  firo. 
"  My  powiir/*  he  said,  ^  by  othcrs*')pmki  alcm, 
Twere  best  to  learn  :  now  kara  it  by  thy  ««rn! 
With  those,  who  feti  my  power,  th»t  peiw'r  attMt ! 
And  in  thy  an^sh*be  my^sway  coniesa'd  I 
I  vanquish 'd  Ph<s!bas,  thon^  r«t«mihg  wvat 
From  this  new  triumph  o*er  tbo  Python  ilain^       ' 
And,  when  he  thinks  on  Daphne,  even  he  > 

"Will  yield  the  prize  of  archery  to  me. 
A  dart  less  true  the  Parthian  horseman  sped, 
Behind  him  kilVd,  and  eonquer'd  as  he  fled ;  ^ 

Less  true  th'  expert  Cydonian,  and  less  titie  ^ 

Tho  youth,  whose  shall  hii  latent  Procrls  slew.  ^ 
Vanquished  by  me  see  hu|fe  O^ion  bend, 
By  roe  Alcides,  and  AKsid^s*  friend. 
At  me  should  Jove  himself  a  bolt  design, 
His  bosom  first  sfaouM  Meed  trasisfix*^  1^  iriine. 
But  all  thy  doubts  this  shaft  m'lYk  best  explain. 
Nor  shall  k  rench  thee  with  a  trrrial  pii4n> 
Thy  Muse,  Tain  yolith !  ^1^1  not  thy  peace -ensitt^y 
Nor  Phoebus*  se^ttt  ^\M  the  Wound  a  en^Sv** 


He  spoke,  and,  wav^g:  a  bri^t  shaft  in  air. 
Sought  the  warm  bosom  of  the  Cyprian  fair. 

Thatihtis  a^h^d  ebotild  bhirter  in  my  Mtf, 
Provok'd  ally  laughter,  move  than  mov'd  my  iewr, 
I  shunn'd  not,  thereA»)e,  ptibQok  haunts,  font  str»y  d 
Careless  in  city,  or  submbara  idiade ; 
And  passing,  and  repasshig,  n;^phs,  that  mov'd 
With  grace  divine,  behold  where'er  I  rov*d. 
Bright  shone  the  vernal  day,  with  double  blaze. 
As  beauty  gave  new  force  to  PhiBbus'  rays ; 
By  no  grave  scruples  check'd  I  freely  ey'd 
The  dang'rous  shuw :  rash  youtli  my  only  guide ; 

Vol.  UL  15 


m      TRANSLATIONS  FllOM  MILTON. 
And  many  a  look  of  many  a  fair  unknown 
Met  full  unable  to  control  my  own. 
But  one  I  mark'd,  (then  peace  forsook  my  breast,) 
One — Oh  how  far  superiour  to  the  rest ! 
What  lovely  features !  such  the  CTyprian  queen 
Herself  might  wish,  and  Juno  wish  her  mien. 
The  very  nymph  was  rite,  whom  when  I  dar*d 
His.  arrows,  Lore,  had  even  then  prepar'd ! 
Nor  was  himself  remote,  nor  unsupply^d 
With  torch  well-trimm*d  and  quiver  at  his  side  . 
Now  to  her  lips  he  clung,  her  eyoUda  now, 
Than  settled  on  her  cheeks,  or  on  her  brow, 
An(^with  a  thousand  wounds  from  ev'ry  part 

^ierc*d,  and  transpierced,  my  undefended  hearty 

Wk  fever,  new  to  me,  of  fierce  desire, 
Now  seis'd  my  soul,  and  I  was  all  on  fire, 
But  she,  the  while,  whom  only  I  adore. 
Was  gone,  and  vanish'd,  to  appear  no  more. 
In  silent  sadness  I  pursue  my  way } 
I  pause,  I  turn,  proceed,  yet  wish  to  stay, 
And  while  I  follow  her  in  thought,  bemoan 
With  tears,  my  soul's  delight  so  quickly  flown. 
When  Jove  had  hurrd  him  to  the  Lemnian  coast. 
So  Vulcan  sorrowed  for  Olympus  lost : 
And  so  Oeclides,  sinking  into  night. 
From  the  deep  gulf  ltpk*d  up  to  distant  light. 

Wretch  that  I  am^what  hopes  for  me  remair 
Who  cannel  eeaas  to  love,  yet  love  ur  vun  ? 
Oh  could  I  once,  once  more  heboid  the  feir. 
Speak  to  her,  tell  her  <^  the  pan|{9 1  Deaf, 
^crhaps  she  is  not  adamant,  woi*ld  show 
Perhaps  some  pity  at  my  tale  of  wo. 
Oh  inasupicious  flame — 'tis  mine  to  prove 
A  matchless  instance  of  disastrous  love. 
Ah  spare  me,  gentle  pow*r  ! — If  such  thou  be. 
Let  not  thy  deeds,  and  nature,  disagree. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON.      17J 
8pare  me,  and  I  will  worship  at  no  shrine 
With  TOW  and  sacrifice,  save  only  thine. 
Now  I  revere  th^  fires,  thy  bow,  thy  darts : 
Now  own  thee  sov*reign  of  all  human  hearts. 
Remove !  no— grant  me  still  this  raging  wo  ! 
Sweet  is  the  wretchedness  that  lovers  know 
But  pierce  hereafter  (should  I  chance  to  see 
One  destin'd  mine)  at  once  both  her  and  me. 

Such  were  the  trophies,  that,  in  earlier  days, 
By  yanity  seduced,  Itoil'd  to  raise. 
Studious,  yet  indolent,  and  urg'd  by  youth, 
That  worst  of  teachers !  from  the  ways  of  truth  i 
Till  learning  taught  me,  in  his  shady  bow'r. 
To  quit  love's  servile  yoke,  and  spurn  his  pow'r.         ^ 
Then,  on  a  sudden,  the  fierce  flame  suppressed, 
A  frost  continual  settled  on  my  breast, 
Whence  Cupid  fears  his  flames  extinct  to  8ee« 
And  Venus  dreads  a  Diomede  in  me. 


EPIGRAMS. 

OH  THE   IlfVElfTOR  07   GUNS. 

Praise  in  old  time  the  rage  Prometheus  won, 
Who  stol*  ethereal  radiance  from  the  sun ; 
But  greater  he,  whose  bold  invention  strove    .  ^ 
To  emulate  the  fiery  boHs  of  Jove. 


[The  poems  on  the  subject  of  the  Gunpowder  Trea* 
8on  I  have  not  translated,  both  because  the  matter  of 
them  )s  unpleasant,  and  because  they  are  written  with 
anr  asperity,  which,  however  it  might  be  warranted  ia 
Milton's  days,  would  be  extremely  unseason^le  now.] 


(1») 


TO  LEONORA  SINGINO  AT  ROME.* 

Another  Leonora  once  iii«^*4' 
Tasso,  with  fatal  love  to  pluensj  ^'d  y 
But  how  much  happier  liv'd  he  now,  were  he, 
Piorc'd  with  whatever  pangs  for  love  of  thee !  • 
Since  could  he  hoar  that  heavenly  voice  o£  thine. 
With  Adriana's  lute  of  sound  divine, 
Fiercer  than  Pentheus,  though  his  eye  might  roll, 
Or  idiot  apa^y  benumb  his  soul, ' 
»^Yoa  still,  with  medicinal  sounds,  might  cheer 
His  senses  wandering  in  a  blind  career ; 
An^  sweetly  breathing  through  his  wounded  breast, 
Charm,  with  soul-soothing  song,  hislhonghts  to  rest 


TO  THE  SAME. 

Naples,  too  eredulous,  ah .'  boast  no  more 
The  sweet-voic'd  Si^on  buried  on  thy  shore, 
That,  ^hon  Parthenopo  deceased,  sh«>  gave 
Her  sacred  dust  to  a  Chalcidick  grave^ 
For  still  she  lives,  but  has  exchanged  the  hoarse 
Pausiiipo  for  Tiber's  placid  eourse, 
Where,  idol  of  all  Rome,  she  now  in  chains 
Of  magick  song,  both  ^ods  and  men  detains. 

**  I'  hov©  translated  oiUy  two  of- th«  ibree  poeueal  conplf 
mcnis  addressed  to  Lcoiiorn,  as  (key  appear  U>  mo  far-  sups 
rJour  to  wba^  1  have  omitted. 


(m) 

THE  COTTAGER  AND  HIS  LANDLORD 


A  PEASAKT  to  hif  lord  paid  yearly  court, 
Presenting  pippins,  of  so  rich  a  sort. 
That  he,  displeased  to  have  a  part  alone, 
RemoY'd  the  tree,  that  all  might  be  his  own 
The  tree,  too  old  to  travel,  though  before 
So  fruitful,  withered,  and  would  yield  no  more. 
The  'squire,  perceiving  all  his  labour  void, 
Curs'd  his  own  pains,  so  foolishly  employed, 
And  "  Oh,"  he  cried,  "  that  I  had  liv*d  content 
With  tribute,  small  indeed,  but  kindly  meant ! 
My  avarice  has  expensive  prov'd  to  me. 
Has  cost  me  both  mj  pippins  and  my  tree  " 


CHRISTUNA,  QUEEN  OP  SWEDEN, 


CROMWELL'S  PICTURE. 

Christiana,  maiden  of  heroick  mien ! 
Star  or  the  north !  of  northern  stars  the  queen ! 
Behold  what  wrinkles  I  have  eam*d,  fnd  how 
The  iron  casque  still  chafes  my  veteran  brow, 
While  following  fate V  dark  footsteps,  I  fulfil 
,  The  dictates  of  a  hardy  people's  will. 
But  soften'd,  in  thy  sight,  my  looks  appeary 
Not  to  all  Queens  or  Kings  alike  severe 
15* 


-Il 


(174) 
MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS 


DEATH  or  THE  VlCE-CHAlfeRhhCm^ 

A  PHTSIGlAjr* 

IdbABic,  ye  nationt  o£  tiiA  ooiil^: 
Tbo  oeadt^oil  of  y^mc  birth^ 
Now  ha  tao^bt  your  foel^  state ! 
Kn^w  that  aU  BNisi  yield  to  £Ue! 

If  the  mournful  rover,  Death, 
Say  but  once — ^**  i»e%n  your  breath  !*' 
Vainly  of  escape  you  dream, 
Tou  must  pass  the  Sty^an  stream. 

Could  the  stoutest  overcome 
Death's  assault,  and  baffle  doom, 
Hercules  had  both  withstood 
Undiseas'd  by  Nessus'  blood. 

Ne'er  had  Hector  press'd  the  plain 
By  a  trick  of  Pallas  slain, 
Nor  the  chief  to  Jove  allied 
By  Aic^lles'  pbaj»tom  dMi 

Could  enchantments  life  prolong; 
Circe  sav'd  by  magick  song^ 
Still  had  liv'd ;  an  equal  skill 
Had  preserved  Medea  still. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON.      175 
Dwrit  in  herbs,  and  drugs,  a  pow*r 
To  avert  man's  destin'd  hour, 
Leam'd  Machoan  should  have  known 
Doubtless  to  avert  his  own. 

Chiron  had  ^orviv'd  the  smart 
Of  the  Hydra-tainted  dart, 
And  Jove^  bolt  had  beeU)  wit^ease, 
Foil*d  by  Asclepiades. 
m 
.    Thou  too,  s«|fo !  of  whom  fi^dorti 
Helicon  and  Cinrha  mourn, 
Still  hadst  fiU'd  thy  prmcely  pkee 
Regent  of  the  gowned  raee* 

Hadst  advano'dtto  higher  fifeme 
Still,  thy  mueh-onitobled  naine, 
Nor  in  Charon'9  skiff  oxplor^d 
The  Tartarean  gulf  abhorr'di 

But  resentftd  Pfoserpine, 
Jealou»  of  ^y  sk^  ^vine,  ' 
Sniping  riMvt  thy  vital' tteeady 
Thee  too  Bumber'd  with  the  deMl- 

Wise  and  good  i  ontiioohlod  b*  ^ 

The  green  turf  thid.  eovers  thee  1^ 
ThenoOy  ki  gay  prafusian,  grow 
An  the  sweetest  flow'rs  that  blow 

.   Plato's  conspri  bid  thea  rest  I 
JEacus  pronoQBCiB  thea  Uastt 
To  her  home  thy  ibado  wmtdgp^l 
Make  Elysium  ever  thine ! 


(176) 


DEATH  OF  THE  BISHOP  OF  ELY. 

ffritUm  m  tk*  ^Ukor*s  Vftk  year. 

Mt  lidi  with  ^ef  wve  tumid  yet, 
And  still  my  stdlied  cheek  was  wet 
With  briny  dews,  profosoly  died 
For  venerable  Winton  dead : 
When  Fame,  whose  tales  of  saddest  aevad, 
Alas !  are  ever  truest  found, 
The  news  throug^h  all  our  cities  spread 
Of  yet  another  mitred  head 
By  ruthless  fate  to  death  consi^'d, 
Ely,  the  honour  of  his  kind  ! 

At  once,  a  storm  of  passion  heated 
My  boiling  bosom,  much  1  grieved, 
But  mote  I  n^'d  at  ey'ry  breath 
DeToting  Death  homself  to  death. 
With  less  revenge  did  Naso  teem, 
#  When  hated  Uus  was  Ins  liieme  ; 
With  less,  Arehikichos,  denied 
The  lovely  Greek,  his  pronitt*d  brido^ 

But  lo !  while  thus  I  execrate, 
Incens'd  the  minister  of  &te, 
Wondrous  accents,  soSfl,  yet  dear, 
Wafted  on  the  gale  I  heiur. 

"  Ah,  much  deluded !  lay  aside 
Thy  threats,  and  anger  misapplied  j 
Art  not  afraid  with  sounds  like  these, 
T'  ofiend,  where  thou  canst  not  appease 


TKANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTOIf.       177 
Death  is  not  (whet eforc  dream'st  thou  tluts  ?) 
The  son  of  Night  9nd  Erebus : 
Nor  was  of  fell  Erynnis  betrn 
On  a^ulfs,  where  Chao*  rules  ^lom  •  * 
But,  sent  from  God,  his  presence  leaveiy 
To  gather  home  his  ri^a'4  sheaTeey 
To  call  encuraber'd  souls  away 
From  fleshly  bonds  to  boundless  day, 
(As  when  tlie  winged  hours  excite, 
And  summon  forth  th%  morning-light) 
And  each  to  convoy  to  her  place 
Btfore  th'Eteraal  Father's  face. 
But  not  the  wicked — ^them,  severe 
Tet  juikt  ftom  all  their  pteasnreft  nMt 
He  hurries  to  the  realms  belov^ 
Terriiick  realms  of  penal  wo  ! 
Myself  no  seeder  heard  hiacAlH 
Than  *scapj»g  thfough  »^  pirisDA-wt]^ 
I  bade  adieu  to  bolts  and  bm, 
And  soar^d^  with  a«|^,  to  Um  stafs. 
Like  him  of  old,  to  whom  'twas  giv'n 
T»  mouiH,  OR  fioffjF  wheels^  io  Iit0V*« 
Bootes'  wagea>  slew  with  cold, 
Appall'd  m»  Hoi  >  aerio- beheld. 
The  sword,  tb«^  v^  Orion  draw% 
Or  ev'n  the  Seoi^io«'»  horrid  (^«w% 
Beyond  the  sfuys  bright  ^li^  I  %) 
And,  far  beneath  my  &et,  desery 
Night's  dread  goddess,  seei^  with  aw«9    . 
Whom  her  winged  dragons  draw. 
Thus,  ever  wond'rii^  at  my  speed, 
Augmented  still  as  I  proceed^ 
I  pass  the  planetary  ^here. 
The  Milky  Way — ^aad  now  appear 
Heav'n's  crystal  battlements,  her  dooi 
Of  massy  poarl,  and  em'cald  floor. 


178      TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON 
Bat  here  I  cease.    For  never  can 
The  tongue  of  once  a  mortal  man 
In  suitable  description  trace 
The  pleasures  of  that  happy  place ; 
Suffice  it,  that  those  joys  divine 
Are  all,  and  all  for  ever,  mine  !*' 


NATURE  UNIMPAIRED  BY  TIME, 

Ah,  how  the  homan  mind  weartes  herself 
S^  ith  her  own  wanderings,  and,  involved  in  gloom 
Impenetrable,  speculates  amiss ! 
Measuring,  in  her  folly,  things  divine 
By  human ;  laws  Inscrib'd  on  adamant 
By  laws  of  nan's  device,  and  counsels  fix'd 
For  ever,  by  the  hoars,  that  pass  and  die. 

How ! — shall  the  fhce  of  nature  then  be  ploughed 
Into  deep  wrinkles,  and  shall  years  at  last 
On  the  great  Parent  fix  a  sterile  curse  ? 
Shall  even  she  confess  old  age,  and  halt, 
And,  palsy-smkten,  shake  her  starry  brows .' 
Shall  foul  Antiquity  with  rust  and  drought, 
And  Famine,  vex  the  radiant  worlds  above .' 
Shall  Timers  unsated  maw  crave  and  ingulf 
The  very  Heav'ns,  that  regulate  his  flight  f 
And  was  the  Sire  of  all  ^ble  to  fence 
His  works,  and  to  uphold  the  circling  worlds. 
But,  through  improvident  and  heedless  haste. 
Let  slip  th*  occasion  ? — so  then — all  is  lost — 
And  in  some  future  evil  hour,  yon  arch 
Shall  crumble,  and  come  thundering  down,  the  pofef 
Jar  in  collision,  the  Olympian  king 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON.     179 
Fall  with  his  throno,  and  Pallaa,  holding  forth 
The  terroors  of  the  Gorgon  shield  in  vain, 
Shall  rush  to  the  abyss,  like  Vulean  hurPd 

#  Down  into  Lemnos,  through  the  gate  of  HeaT*ii 
Thou  also,  with  precipitated  wheels, 
Phoebus  !  thy  own  son's  iall  shalt  imitate, 
With  hideous  ruin  shalt  impress  the  deep 

f   Suddenly,  and  the  flood  shall  reek,  and  hiss 
At  the  extinction*  of  the  lamp  of  day. 
Then  too  shall  H«mns,  cIoTon  to  his  base, 
Be  8faalter*d,  and  the  huge  Ceraunian  hills^ 
Once  weapons  of  Tertarean  Dis,  immersed 
In  ErebulJ  shaQ  fill  himself  with  fear. 

No.    The  Almighty  Father  surer  laid 
His  deep  foundations,  and  providing  well 
For  the  event  of  all,  the  scales  of  Fate 
Suspended,  in  just  equipoise,  and  bade 
His  universal  works,  from  age  to  age. 
One  tenour  hold,  perpetual,  undisturb'd 

Hence  the  prime  mover  wheels  itself  about 
Continual,  day  by  day,  and  with  it  bears 
In  social  measure  swift  the  heav'ns  around. 
Not  tardier  now  is  Satan  than  of  old. 
Nor  radiant  less  the  burning  casque  of  Mars, 
Phoebus,  his  vigour  unimpaired,  still  shows 
Th'  effulgence  of  his  youth,  nor  needs  the  god 
A  downward  course,  that  he  may  warm  the  vales; 
But,  ever  rich  in  influence,  runs  his  road. 
Sign  after  sign,  through  all  the  heav'nly  zone. 
Beautiful,  as  at  first,  ascends  the  star 
From  odorifrous  Ind,  whose  office  is 
To  gather  home  betimes  th'  ethereal  flock, 
To  pour  them  o'er  the  skies  again  at  eve. 
And  to  discriminate  the  night  and  day. 
Still  Cynthia's  changeful  horn  waxes,  and  wanes. 
Alternate,  and  with  arms  extended  still 


180      TRAN&i.ATlOXS  FROM  MILTOK, 

She  welcomes  to  her  bretst  her  brother's  beaBMy 

Nor  have  the  elements  deserted  yet 

Their  functions ;  thtiader,  with  as  loud  a  stroke 

As  ertt,  smites  through  the  rocks,  and  scatters  them  ^ 

The  east  still  howb,  etiii  |he  relentless  north 

Inrades  the  shudd'Hng  Scythian,  still  he  breathei 

The  winter,  •md  still  roUe  the  storms  along. 

The  king  ef  ocmui,  inth  his  wonted  Ibrce^ 

Beats  on  Peloros,  o'er  the  deep  is  heard 

The  hoarse  akrm  of  TeU^'*  sminding  shell, 

If  at  swim  th«  moafltere.of  the  £gean  sea 

in  shallows,  or  bMteath  diminish'd  waves. 

Thou  too,  thy  ancient  vegetative  pow'r  ,    • 

£njoy*st,  O  Earth  !  Narcissus  still  is  sweet, 

And  Phoebus !  stUl  iky  favourite,  and  still 

Thy  favVito  Cythereat  both  retain 

Their  beauty,  nor  the  mountains,  ore-enrich 'd 

For  punishment  of  mittr  with  purer  gold 

Teem'd  ever,  or  wilh  brighter  gems  the  Deep 


Thus,  in  unbroken  scries,  all  proceeds  *, 
And  shall,  till  wide  involving  either  pole. 
And  the  immensity  of  yonder  heav'a. 
The  final  flaaioa  of  dostiiiy  nbaorb 

oe  world  consua^cl  hi  cmo  epormous  pyre  i 


i 


1 


(181) 


PLATONICK  roEA, 


AS  IT  WAS  VHDERSTOOD  BT  ABISTOTLB. 

Tx  lister  pow'rs,  who  o*er  the  sacred  groves 
Preside,  and  thou,  fair  mother  of  them  all,  « 

Mnemosyne !  and,  thoa,  who  in  thy  grot 
Immense,  recUn'd  at  leisure,  hast  in  charge 
The  archives^  and  the  ordinances  of  Jove, 
And  dost  record  the  festivals  of  heav'n, 
Eternity ! — inform  us  who  is  He,  v 

That  great  original  hy  nature  chos'n 
To  be  the  archetype  of  human  kind, 
Unchangeable,  immortal,  with'  the  poles 
Themselves'  coeval,  one,  yet  ev'ry  where. 
An  miage  of  the  god,  who  gave  him  being  f 
Twin-brother  of  the  goddess  born  from  Jove. 
He  dwells  not  in  his  father's  mind,  but,  though 
Of  common  nature  with  ourselves,  exists 
.Apart,  and  occupies  a  local  home. 
Whether,  companion  of  the  stars,  he  spend 
Eternal  ages,  roaming  at  bis  will 
From  sphere  to  sphere  the  tenfold  heaves,  or  dwell 
On  the  moon's  side  that  nearest  neighbours  earth, 
Or  torpid  on  the  banks  of  Lethe  sit 
Among  tlie  multitude  of  souls  ordain*d 
To  flesh  and  blood,  or  whether  (as  may  chance) 
That  vast  and  giant  model  of  our  kind 
(n  some  far  distant  region  of  this  globe  " 
Sequestered  stalk,  with  lifted  head  on  high 
O'ertow'ring  Atlas,  on  whose  shoulders  rest 
The  stars,  terrifick  even  to  the  gods. 
Vol..  III.  16 


182      TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON. 
Neyer  tlie  Theban  seer,  whose  blindness  prov  d 
His  best  illamination,  him  beheJd 
In  secret  vision ;  never  hiin  the  son 
Of  Pleione,  amid  the  noiseless  night 
Descendi^,  to  the  prophet-choir  reveal'd ; 
Him  never  knew  th*  Assyrian  priest  who  jet 
The  ancestry  of  Ninus  chronicles. 
And  Belos,  and  Osiris,  fiir  renown'd ; 
Nor  even  thrice  great  Hecmes,  although  skill 'd 
So  deep  in  myst'iy,  to  the  worshippers 
Of  Isis.show'd  a  prodigy  like  him 

And  thou,  who  hast  immortaliz*d  the  shades 
Of  Academus,  if  the  schools  received 
This  monster  of  the  &ncy  first  from  thee, 
Either  recall  at  once  the  banlsh'd  bards 
To  thy  republick,  or  thyself  evinc'd 
A  wilder  fabulist,  go  also  forth. 


TO  HIS  FATHER. 


Oh  that  Pieria*s  spring  would  thro*  my  breast 
Four  its  inspiring  influence,  and  rush 
No  rill,  but  rather  an  o'erflowing  flood  I 
That,  for  my  venerable  Father's  sake, 
All  meaner  themes  renounc'd,  ray  muse,  on  wings 
Of  duty  borne,  might  reach  a  loftier  strain. 
For  thee,  my  Father !  howsoe'er  it  please, 
.  She  frames  tliis  slender  work,  nor  know  I  aught, 
That  may  thy  gifts  more  suitably  requite; 
Though  to  requite  tliem  suitably  would  ask 
Rctvrof  much  nobler,  and  surpassing  far 
Th©  m/Bag.r«  ^ores  of  verbal  gratitude 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON        183 
But,  such  as  I  possess,  I  send  theo  all, 
This  page  presents  thee  in  their  full  amount 
With  thy  son's  treasures,  and  the  sum  is  nought , 
Nought,  save  the  riches  that  from  airy  dream 
In  secret  grottos,  and  in  laurel  bow'rs, 
I  have,  by  golden  Clio's  gift,  acquired. 

Verse  is  a  work  divine  ;  despise  not  thou 
Verse  therefore,  which  evinces  (nothing  more) 
Man's  heavenly  source,  and  which,  retaining  still      * 
Some  scintillations  of  Promethean  fire. 
Bespeaks  him  animated  from  above. 
The  Gods  love  verse  ;  the  infernal  powers  themselvM 
Confess  the  influence  of  verse,  which  stirs 
The  lowest  deep,  and  binds  in  triple  chains 
Of  adamant  both  Plato  and  the  Shades. 
In  verse  the  Delphick  priestess,  and  the  pale 
Tremulous  Sybil,  make  the  future  known. 
And  he  wlio  sacrifices  on  the  shrine 
Jiangs  verse,  both  when  he  smites  the  threat'ning  ball 
And  when  he  spreads  his  reeking  entrails  wide 
To  scrutinize  the  Fates  envoldp'd  there. 
We  too,  ourselves,  what  time  we  seek  again 
Our  native  skies,  and  one  eternal  now 
Shall  be  the  only  measure  of  our  being, 
CrowVd  all  with  gold,  and  chanting  to  the  lyre 
Hannomous  verse,  shall  range  the  courts  above^ 
And  make  the  starry  firmament  resound 
And,  even  now,  the  fiery  Spirit  pure 
That  wheels  yon  circling  orbs,  directs,  himself. 
Their  mazy  dance  with  melody  of  verso 
Unutt*rable,  immortal,  hearing  which 
Huge  Ophinchus  holds  his  hiss  suppress'd, 
Orion  softened,  drops  his  ardent  blade. 
And  Atlas  stands  unconscious  of  his  load. 
Verse  grac'd  of  old  the  feasts  of  kings,  ere  yet 
Luxurious  dainties,  destin*d  to  the  gulf 
Immense  of  gluttony,  were  known,  and  ere 


184      TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON 
Lyseus  dclug'd  yet  the  temp'rate  board.  - 
Then  sat  the  bard  a  customary  guest 
To  share  the  banquet,  and,  his  length  of  locks 
With  beechen  honours  bound,  proposed  in  verse, 
The  characters  of  heroes,  and  their  deeds, 
To  imitation,  sang  of  Chaos  old. 
Of  nature's  birth,  of  gods  that  crept  in  search 
Of  acorns  falFn,  and  of  the  thunderbolt 
Not  yet  produc'd  from  Ikna's  fiery  cave. 
And  what  avails,  at  last,  tuno  without  voice, 
Devoid  of  matter  ?  Such  may  suit  ))erhaps 
The  rural  d^ce,  but  such  was  ne'er  the  song 
Of  Orpheus,  whom  the  streams  stood  still  to  hear 
And  the  oaks  foUow'd.    Kot  by  chords  alone 
Well  touch'd,  but  by  resistless  accents  more, 
To  sympathetick  tears  the  ghosts  themselves 
He  mov'd ;  these  praises  to  his  verse  he  owes. 

Nor  thou  persist^  I  pray  thee,  still  to  sliglit 
The  sacred  Nine,  and  to  imagine  vain 
And  useless,  pow'rs  by  whom  inspir'd,  thyself 
Art  skilful  to  associate  verse  with  airs 
Harmonious,  and  to  give  the  human  voice 
A  thousand  modulations,  heir  by  right 
Indisputable  of  Arion's  fame. 
Now  say,  what  wonder  is  It,  if  a  son 
Of  thine  delight  in  verse,  if  so  conjoin'd 
In  close  affinity,  we  sympathize 
In  ilocial  arts,  and  kindred  studies  sweet  ? 
Such  distribution  of  himself  to  us 
Was  Phosbus'  choice :  thou  hast  thy  gift,  and  I 
Mine  also,  and  between  us  we  receive. 
Father  and  Son,  the  whole  inspiring  God. 

No  !  howsoever  the  semblance  thou  assume 
Of  hate,  thou  hatest  not  the  gentle  Muse, 
My  father  !  for  thou  never  oad'st  me  tread 
The  beaten  path,  and  broad,  that  lead'st  right  on 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MIJLTON.       186 
To  opulence,  nor  didst  condemn  thy  son 
To  the  insipid  clamours  of  the  har, 
To  laws  voluminous,  and  ill  observ'd  ; 
But,  wishing  to  enrich  me  more,  to  fill 
My  mind  with  treasure,  led'st  me  far  away 
From  city-din  to  deep  retreats,  to  banks 
And  streams  Aonian :  and,  with  free  consent. 
Didst  place  me  happy  at  Apollo's  side. 
I  speak  not  now,  on  more  important  themes 
Intent,  of  common  benefits,  and  such 
As  nature  bids,  but  of  thy  larger  gifls, 
My  Father !  who,  when  I  had  open'd  onco 
The  stores  6f  Roman  rhetorick,  and  learn 'd 
The  fuU-ton'd  language  of  the  eloquent  Greeks. 
Whose  lofty  musick  grac'd  the  lips  of  Jove, 
Thyself  didst  counsel  me  to  add  the  flow'rs 
That  Gallia  boasts,  those  too,  with  which  the  nnooti 
Italian  his  degenerate  speech  adorns. 
That  witnesses  his  mixture  with  the  Goth ; 
And  Palestine's  prophetick  songs  divine 
To  sum  the  whole,  whate'er  the  heav'n  contains, 
The  earth  beneath  it,  and  the  air  between, 
The  rivers  and  the  restless  deep  may  all 
Prove  intellectual  gain  to  me,  my  wish 
Concurring  with  thy  will ;  science  herself; 
All  cloud  remov'd,  inclines  her  beauteous  head. 
And  offers  me  the  lip,  if,  dull  of  heart, 
I  shrink  not,  and  decline  her  gracious  boon. 

Go  now,  and  gather  dross,  ye  sordid  mmds. 
That  covet  it ;  what  could  my  Father  more  ? 
What  more  couid  Jove  himself,  unless  he  gave 
His  own  abode,  the  heav'n,  in  which  he  reigns  'f 
More  eligible  gifts  than  these  were  not 
Apollo*8  to  hi«  son,  had  they  been  safe, ' 
As  they  were  insecure,  who  made  the  boy 
The  world's  vice-luminary,  bade  him  rule 
The  radia  vt  chariot  of  the  day,  and  bind 
16» 


186       TKAI^SLATIONS  FROM  MILTON. 
To  his  young  brows  his  own  all-dazzling  wreath. 
I  therefore,  although  last  and  least,  my  place 
Among  the  learned  in  the  laurel  grove 
Will  hold,  and  where  the  conqu'ror's  ivy  twines, 
Henceforth  exempt  from  the  unletter'd  throng 
Profane,  nor  even  to  be  seen  by  such. 
Away,  then,  sleepless  Care,  Complaint,  away, 
And,  Envy,  with  thy  "jealous  leer  malign  !*' 
Nor  let  the  monster  Calumny  shoot  forth 
Her  venom'd  tongue  at  me     Detested  foes ! 
Ye  all  are  impotent  against  my  peace, 
For  I  am  privilog'd,  and  bear  my  breast 
Safe,  and  too  high,  for  your  viperean  lyound. 

But  thou  I  my  Father,  since  to  render  thanks 
Equivalent,  and  to  requite  by  deeds 
Thy  liberality,  exceeds  my  power. 
Suffice  it,  that  I  thus  record  thy  gifts. 
And  bear  them  treasured  in  a  grateful  mind ! 
Ye  too,  the  favourite  pastitae  of  my  youthj 
My  voluntary  numbers,  if  ye  dare 
To  hope  longevity,  and  to  survive 
Your  master's  funeral,  not  soon  absotb*d 
In  the  oblivious  Lethsean  gulf. 
Shall  to  futurity  perhaps  cdnv6y 
This  theme,  and  by  these  praises  of  my  sire 
Improve  the  Fathers  of  a  distiiirt  a^e  1 


(187) 


TO 


SALSILLUS,  A  BOJMAN  POET 
MUCH  INDISFOSEID 


The  original  k  Written  in  a  meyasure  called  Seazon^ 
which  signifies  limptngf  and  the  measore  is  so  deno- 
minated, because,  though  in  other  rejects  lambick,  it 
terminates  with  a  Spondee,  and  has  conseqoentij  a 
more  tardy  movement. 

The  reader  will  immediately  see  that  this  property 
of  the  Latin  verse  cannot  be  imitated  in  EngHsk 


Mr  halting  Muse,  that  dragg'st  by  choice  aloi^ 
Thy  slow,  slow  step,  in  melancholy  song, 
And  lik'st  that  pace,  expressive  of  thy  cares. 
Not  less  than  Diopeia's  sprightlier  airs, 
When,  in  the  dance,  she  beats,  with  measured  treadj 
Heav*n*s  floor,  in  front  of  Juno's  golden  bed  ; 
Salute  Salsillus,  who  to  verse  divine 
Prefers,  with  partial  love,  such  lays  as  mine. 
Thus  writes  that  Milton  then,  who  wafled  o'er 
From  his  own  nest,  on  Albion's  stormy  shore. 
Where  Eurus,  fiercest  of  the  £olian  band^ 
Sweeps,  with  ungovem'd  rage,  the  blasted  land» 
Of  late  to  more  serene  Ausonia  came 
To  view  her  cities  of  illustrious  name, 


188      TRANSLATIONS  lilOM  MILTON. 
To  prove  himaelf  a  witness  of  the  truth, 
How  wise  her  elders,  and  how  learn'd  her  youth. 
Much  good,  Salsillas !  and  a  bodjr  free 
From  all  disease,  that  Milton  asks  for  thee, 
Who  now  endur'st  the  languor,  and  the  pains, 
That  bile  inflicts,  diffused  through  all  thy  Teins, 
Relentleis  malady !  act  moy'd  to  spare 
By  thy  sweet  Roman  voice,  an(}  Lesbian  air ! 

Health,  Hebe's  sister  sent  us  from  the  skies, 
And  thou,  Apollo,  whom  all  sickness  flies, 
Pythius,  or  Paean,  or  what  name  divine 
8oe*er  thou  choose,  baste,  heal  a  priest  of  thine! 
*  Te  groves  of  Faunus,  and  ye  hiUs,  thai  melt 
With  vinous  dews,  where  meek  Evander  dwelt ! 
If  aught  salubrious  in  your  confines  grow, 
Strive  which  shall  soonest  heal  your  poet's  wo. 
That,  rendered  to  the  Muse  he  loves,  agam 
He  may  enchant  the  meadows  with  his  strain. 
Numa,  reclin'd  in  everlasting  ease,  ^ 
Amid  the  shade  of  dark  embowering  trees. 
Viewing  with  eyes  of  unabated  fire 
His  lov*d  iEgeria,  shall  that  strain  admire : 
80  sooth'd,  ihQ  tumid  Tiber  shall  revere 
The  tombs  of  kings,  nor  desolate  the  year^ 
Shall  curb  his  waters  with  a  friendly  reia, 
And  guide  them  harmlessly  till  they  meet  the  main. 


X189) 

TO 

GIOVANNI  BATTISTA  MANSO, 

MARQUIS  or  VILLA. 

MILTON'S  ACCOUNT  OF  MANSO. 

Giovanni  Baftista  Manso,  Marquis  of  Villa,  is  an 
Italian  nobleman  of  the  highest  estimation  among  his 
countrymen,  for  geniqs,  literature,  and  military  ac- 
complishments. To  him  Torquato  Tasso  addressed 
his  Dialogues  on  Friendship,  for  he  was  much  tho 
friend  of  Tasso,  who  has  also  celebrated  him  among 
the  other  Princes  of  hil  cduntry,  in  hb  poem,  entitled, 
Gerusalemme  Conquistata,  book  xx, 

Fra  cavalier  magnanimi,  e  cortesi, 

Ri^lende  il  Manso. 
During  the  Author's  stay  at  Naples,  he  received  at 
the  hands  of  the  Marquis  a  thousand  kind  offices  and 
civilities,  and,  desirous  not  to  appear  ungrateful, 
sent  him  this  poem  a  short  time  before  his  departure 
from  thait  city. 


These  verses  also  to  thy  praise  the  Nino, 
Oh  Manso !  liappy  in  that  theme,  design. 
For,  Gallus  and  McBcenas  gone,  they  see 
None  such  besides,  or  whom  they  love  as  thee  ; 
And,  if  my  verse  may  give  the  meed  of  fame, 
Thine  too  shall  prove  an  everlasting  name. 
Already  such,  it  shines  in  Tasso's  page 
(For  thou  wast  Tasso's  friend)  from  age  to  age, 


I!)0      TKAxNSLATJONS  FROM  MILTON. 

And,  next,  the  Muse  consign'd  (not  unaware 

How  high  tlic  charge)  Marino  to  thy  care, 

Who,  singing  to  the  nymphs,  Adonis'  praise. 

Boasts  tliee  tlie  patron  of  his  copious  lays. 

To  thee  alone  the  poet  would  entrust 

His  latest  vows,  to  thee  alone  his  dust ; 

And  thou  witli  punctual  piety  hast  paid,  , 

In  laboured  brass,  thy  tribute  to  liis  sliade. 

Nor  this  contented  thee — but  lest  the  grave 

Should  aught  absorb  of  theirs  which  thou  couldst 

save, 
All  future  ages  thou  hast  deign 'd  to  teach 
The  life,  lot,  genius,  character  of  each, 
Eloquent  as  the  Carian  sage,  who  true 
To  his  great  theme,  the  life  of  Homer  drew. 

I,  therefore,  though  a  stranger  youth,  who  come 
Chill'd  by  rude  blasts,  that  freeze  my  northern  home, 
Thee  dear  to  Clio,  confident  jfroclaim, 
And  thine,  for  Phsbus's  sake,  a  deathless  name. 
Nor  thou,  so  kind,  wilt  view  with  scornful  eye 
A  muse  scarce  rear'd  beneath  out  BuHen  sky, 
Who  fears  not,  indiscreet  as  she  is  young, 
To  seek  in  Latium  hearers  of  her  song. 
We  too,  where  TJiames  with  his  unsullied  waves 
The  tresses  of  tlie  blue-hair'd  Ocean  laves, 
Hoar  ofl  by  night,  or,  slumb'ring,  seem  to  hear, 
O'er  his  wide  stream,  the  swan's  voice  warbling  clear, 
An^  we  could  boast  a  Tityrus  of  yore, 
Who  trod,  a  welcome  guest,  your  happy  shore. 

Yes— dreary  as  we  own  our  Northern  clime, 
E'en  we  to  Phoebus  raise  the  polish'd  rhyme, 
We  too  servo  Phoibus ;  Phoebus  has  receiv'd 
(If  legends  old  may  claim  to  be  believ'd) 
No  sordid  gifts  from  us,  the  golden  ear, 
The  bumbh'd  apple,  ruddiest  of  the  year, 


/ 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  xMILTON.       191 
The  fragrant  crocus,  and  to  grace  his  fane, 
Fair  damsels  chosen  from  the  Druid  train ; 
Druids,  our  native  hards  in  ancient  time, 
Who  gods  and  heroes  prais'd  in  hallow'd  rhyme  ! 
Hence,  often  as  the  maids  of  Greece  surround 
Apollo's  shrine  with  hymns  of  festive  sound, 
THby  name  the  virgins  who  arriv'd  of  yore, 
With  British  ofTrings,  on  the  Delian  shore, 
Lozo,  from  giant  Corineus  sprung, 
Upis,  on  whose  blest  lips  the  future  hung, 
And  Hecaerge,  with  the  golden  hair, 
All  deck'd  with  Pictish  hues,  and  all  with  bosomi  bare 

Thou,  therefore,  happy  sage,  whatever  clime 
Shall  ring  with  Tasso's  praise  in  after-time, 
Or  with  Marino's,  shalt  be  known  their  friend, 
And  with  an  equal  flight  to  fame  ascend. 
The  world  shall  hear  how  Phcsbus,  and  the  Nine, 
Were  inmates  once,  and  willing  guests  of  thine. 
Tet  PhoBbus,  when  of  old  constrained  to  roam 
The  earth,  an  exile  from  his  heavenly  home, 
Enter'd,  no  willing  guest,  Admetus'  door, 
Though  Hercules  had  ventur'd  there  before. 
But  gentle  Chiron's  cave  was  near,  a  scene 
Of  rural  peace,  cloth!d  with  perpetual  green. 
And  thither,  oft  as  respite  he  requir'd 
From  rustick  clamours  loud,  the  god  retir'd. 
There,  many  a  time,  on  Peneus'  bank  reclin'd 
At  some  oak's  root,  with  ivy  thick  entwin'd. 
Won  by  his  hospitable  friend's  desire. 
He  sooth'd  his  pains  of  exile  witli  the  lyre. 
Then  shook  the  hills,  then  trembled  Peneus'  shore 
Nor  CEta  felt  his  load  of  forests  more  ; 
The  Upland  elms  descended  to  the  plain,  ' 

And  soften'd  lynxes  wonder'd  at  the  strain. 

Well  may  we  think,  O  dear  to  all  above  ! 
Thy  birth  distinguish'd  by  the  smile  of  Jove  ; 


192      TEANSLATIONS  FUOM  MILTON. 

And  that  Apollo  shed  his  kindliest  pow'r, 

AndJIdaia's  son,  on  that  propitious  hour, 

Since  only  minds  so  born  can  comprehend 

A  poet*8  worth)  or  yield' that  worth  a  friend. 

Hence,  on  thy  yet  unfaded  cheek  appears 

The  lingering  freshness  of  thy  greener  years  j 

Hence,  in  tliy  front  and  features,  we  admire 

Nature  unwither'd,  and  a  mind  entire.  • 

Oh  might  80  true  a  friend  to  me  belong, 

So  skiird  to  grace  the  yotailes  of  song. 

Should^I  recall  hereafter  into  rhyme 

The  kings  and  heroes  of  my  native  cUmOy 

Arthur  the  chief,  who  even  now  prepares, 

In  subterraneous  being,  future  wars. 

With  an  his' martial  knights,  to  be  restor'd, 

Each  to  his  seat,  around  the  federal  board, 

And  Oh,  if  spirit  fail  me  not,  disperse 

Our  Saxon  plunderers,  in  triumphant  rerse  t 

Then,  afler  all,  when,  with  the  past  content, 

A  life  I  fiilish;  not  in  silence  spent. 

Should  he,  kind  mourner,  o  er  my  death-bed  bendi 

I  shall  but  need  to  say — "  Bo  yet  my  friend  T 

He,  too,  perhaps,  shall  bid  the  marble  breathe 

To  honour  me,  and  with  the  graceful  wieatHi 

Or  of  Parnassus,,  or  the  Papbian.  isjp, 

Shall  bind  my  brows — but  I  sliall  rest  the  w\vJ» 

Then  also,  if  the  fruits  pf  faith  endure. 

And  virtue's  promised  recompense  be  sure,, 

Bom  to  those  seats,  to  which  the  blest  ^fi^^ 

By  purity  of  soul,  and  virtuoua  fire, 

These  rites,  as  Fate  permits,  I  shall  survey 

With  eyes  illumin'd  by  celestial  day, 

And,  every  cloud  from  my  pure  spirit  drlv(2ii) 

Joy  in  the  bright  beatitude  of  Heaven  ' 


(193) 


dltviai 


DEATH  OF  &AMON. 


THE   ARGUMENT.  , 

Thyrsis  and  Damon,  shepherds  and  neighbours,  had 
always  pursued  the  same  studies,  and  had,  from  their 
earliest  days,  heen  united  in  the  closest  friendship. 
Thyrsis,  while  travelling  for  Improvemont,  received 
intelligence  of  the  death  of  Damon,  and,  af^er  a  time, 
returning  and  finding  it  true,  deploresk  liimself,  and  his 
solitary  condition,  in  this  poem. 

By  Damon  is  td  be  understood  Qmrlea  Diodati, 
conneeted  with  the  Italian  city  of  Lucca  by  his  father's 
side,  in  other  respects  an  Englishman ;  a  youth  of  un 
common  genius,  eruditicm,  and  virtue. 


Yk  Nymphs  of  Himera,  (for  ye  have  shed, 
£rewhile  for  Daplmis,  and  for  Hylas  dead, 
.  And  over  Bion*s  long-lamented  bier. 
The  fruitless  meed  of  manyli.  sacred  tear,) 
Now  through  the  villas  lav'd  by  Thames,  rehoarso 
The  woes  of  Thjrrsis  in  Sicilian,  verse. 
What  sighs  he  heav*d,  and  how  with  groans  profound 
He  made  the  woods  and  hollow  rocks  resotind, 
Toung  Damon  dead ;  nor  even  cens'd  to  pour 
His  lonely  sorrows  at  the  midnight  hour. 
Vol.  m.  17 


194       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON. 

The  green  wheat  twice  had  nodded  in  the  ear, 
And  golden  harvest  twice  enriched  the  year. 
Since  Damon's  lips  had  gasp'd  for  vital  air 
The  last,  last  time,  nor  Thyrsis  yet  was  there ; 
For  he,  enamour'd  of  the  Muse,  remained 
In  Tuscan  Fiorenza  long  detained, 
•  But,  stor'd  at  length  with  all  he  wish'd  to  learn, 
For  his  flock's  sake  now  hasted  to  return, 
And  wh^n  the  shepherd  had  resumed  his  seat 
At  the  elm's  root,  within  his  old  retreat. 
Then  'twas  his  lot,  then,  all  his  loss  to  know, 
And,  from«his  burthen'd  heart,  he  vented  thus  his  wa 

'*  €k>,  seek  your  home,  my  lambs ;  my  thoughts  are 
due 
To  other  cares,  than  those  o£  feeding  you. 
Alas,  what  deities  shall  I  suppose 
In  heaven,  or  earth,  concerned  for  human  woes. 
Since,  O  my  Damon  I  their  Fevcre  decree 
So  soon  condenfns  lue  to  regret  of  iiioc  I 
Depart'st  thou  thus,  thy  virtues  unrepaid 
With  fame  and  honour,  like  a  volga^  shade  ? 
Let  him  forbid  it,  whose  bright  rod  controls, 
And  sep'rates  sordid  from  illi^strious  souls, 
Drive  far  the  rabble,  and  to  thee  assign 
A  happier  lot,  with  spirits  worthy  tiiine ! 

"  Go,  seek  your  home,  my  lambs  ;  my  thoughts  are 
due 
To  other  cares,  than  those  of  feeding  you. 
VVhate'er  befall,  imless  by  cruel  chance. 
The  wolf  first  give  me  a  forbidding  glance, 
Thou  shalt  not  moulder  undeplor'd,  but  long 
Thy  praise  shall  dwell  on  every  shepherd's  tongue 
To  Dapbnis  first  they  shall  dol'ght  to  pay, 
And,  after  him,  to  thee  the  votive  lay, 
While  Pales  shall  the  flocks  and  p.istures  love, 
Or  Faunus  to  frequerAt  the  field  or  grove, 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON.       195 
At  least,  if  Ancient  piety  and  truth, 
With  all  the  learned  labours  of  thy  youth, 
May  serve  thee  aught,  or  to  have  left  behind 
A  sorrowing  friend,  and  of  the  tuneful  kind. 

"  Go,  seek  your  home,  my  lambs ;  my  thoughts  are 
due  * 

To  other  eare^,  than  those  of  feeding  you. 
Yes,  Damon  !  such  thy  sure  reward  shall  be  , 
Bat  ah,  what  doom  awaits  unhappy  me  ? 
Who,  now,  my  pains  and  perils  shall  divide. 
As  thou  wast  wont,  for  ever  at  my  side. 
Both  when  the  rugged  frost  annoy'd  our  feet, 
And  when  the  herbage  all  was  parch'd  with  heat  ; 
Whether  the  grim  woirs  ravage  to  prevent, 
Or  the  huge  lion's,  arm'd  with  darts  we  went  ? 
Whose  converse,  now,  shall  calm  my  stormy  day, 
With  charming  song,*who  now  beguile  my  way  ? 

"  Go,  seek  your  home,  my  lambs ;  my  thoughts  aro 
due 
To  other  cares,  than  those  of  feeding  yotr. 
In  whom  shall  I  confide  ?  Whose  counsel  find 
A  balmy  medicine  for  my  troubled  mind  ? 
Or  whose  discourse,  with  innocent  delight, 
Shall  fill  me  now,  and  cheat  the  wmt'ry  night, 
While  hisses  on  my  hearth  the  pulpy  pear, 
And  black*ning  chestnuts  start  and  crackle  there, 
While  storms  abroad  the  dreary  meadows  whelm, 
And  the  wind  thunders  thro*  the  neighb'ring  ehn. 

"  Go,  seek  your  home,  my  lambs ;  my  thoughts  are 
due 
To  other  cares,  than  those  of  feeding  you. 
Or  who,  when  summer  suns  their  summit  reach. 
And  Pan  sleeps  hidden  by  the  shelt'ring  beech, 
When  shepherds  disappear,  nymphs  seek  the  sedge, 
And  the  stretch'd  rustick  snores  beneath  the  bodge, 


im      TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MlLTO». 
Who  then  shall  render  me  thy  pleasant  yein 
Of  Attick  wit,  thy  jest*,  thy  ainiles  agaii^ 

**  Go,  sttok  yooE  homp,  my  huobs ;  my  tbon^^hta  a^a 
due 
To  other  oaraiy  thaa  thoie  4>f  feeding  you. 
Where  glens  and  vales  are  thickest  oyer^rQwn 
With  tangled  boughs,  I  waijyder  upw  alone, 
Till  night  descend,  while  blust'ring  wu>4  m^j]  sl^ow'f 
Beat  on  my  temples  through  the  ^^tter'A  b,9w'r. 

**  Go,  seek  your  home,  my  Umbg }  ^y  tboo^bts  9xe 
due 
To  other  cares,  th^  thow  of  feeding  yp)^, 
Alas  !  what  rampant  weeds  9ow  shame  my  fieldSf 
And  what  a  nuldew'd  crop  the  furroyr  yiejlds  ? 
My  rao^bling  vines,  njuivpdde4  to  t)^e  trees. 
Bear  shrivell'd  grapes,  my  ipyrtles  fai^  to  please, 
Nor  please  me  more  my  flocks ;  theyy  slighted  turn 
Thehr  unavailing  IpoIls  qa  me«  sod  n^t^rn. 

**  Go,  see^ youc  hfimOf  xt^  ]mi»i  n^  tfioi^r^JL^ ,»re 
d^e 
To  other  cajres,  tl^an  tiju^se  of  S^i)^  yOJ}. 
£gon  invitos  me  to  th,^  Jpuvi  gfoyei 
Amyntas  on  the  river's  bsx^  %<>  rpyc^ 
And  young  AJphesiboys  tq  a  seat 
Whore  broach^  eUus  exiclude  U^e  ^id-day  heaf. 
*  Here  founiaij^  springr-b^re  mossy  biUocks  rise^ 
Here  Zephyr  whispers,  a^d  the  stream  replie^r-:^ 
Thus  each  persuades,  but,  deaf  to  every  call, 
I  gain  the  thickets,  md  escape  theoi  ^. 

"  Go,  seek  your  hprnB,  ngiy  ^axnb>?^;  my  thou|rht8  ai^t 
due 
To  other  cares,  than  those  of  feeding  you. 
Then  Mopsus  said,  (the  same  who  reads  so  well 
The  voice  of  birds,  and  what  the  stars  foretell, 


TRANSLATIONS  PROM  MILTON.      197 

For  he  bj^hadce  had  noticed  my  return,) 

'  What  means  thy  sullen  mood,  this  deep  concern  ? 

Ah  Thyrsis !  thou  art  either  crazed  with  love, 

Or  some  sinister  influence  from  above ; 

Dull  Satum*s  influence  ofl  the  shepherds  roe ; 

His  leaden  shaft  oblique  has  pierced  thee  throagh  * 

"  Go,  go,  my  lambs,  unpastur'd  as  ye  aare ; 
My  thoughts  are  all  now  due  to  other  care. 
Tho  nymphs  amaz*d,  my  melancholy  see. 
And,  *  Thyrsis !'  cry — *  what  will  become  of  thee  ! 
What  wouldst  thou,  Thyrsis  ?  such  should  not  appear 
The  brow  of  youth  stem,  gloomy,  and  severe  ; 
Brisk  youth  should  laugh,  and  love — ah,  shun  the  Ikte 
Of  those,  twice  wretched  mopes !  who  love  too  lata  P 

"  Go,  go,  my  lambs,  unpastur'd  as  ye  are ; 
My  thoughts  are  all  now  due  to  other  care. 
iCgle  with  Hyas  came,  to  sooth  my  pain, 
And  Baueis*  daughter,  Dryope,  the  vain. 
Fair  Dryope,  for  voice  and  finger  neat 
Known  far  and  near,  and  for  her  self-conceit ; 
Chloris  too  came,  whose,  cottage  on  the  hmdt 
That  skirt  the  Idumanian  current,  standi; 
But  all  in  vain  they  came,,  and  but  to  sed 
£jnd  words,  and  comfortable,  lost  on  me. 

"  Go,  go,  my  Jambs,  unpastur'd  as  ye  are ; 
My  thoughts  are  all  now  due  to  other  care. 
Ah  blest  indiflTrence  of  the  playful  herd, 
None  by  his  fellow  chosen,  or  preferr'd ! 
No  bonds  of  amity  the  flocks  enthral. 
But  each  associates,  and  is  pleased  with  all  -, 
So  graze  the  dappled  deer  in  numVous  droves, 
And  all  his  kind  alike  the  zebra  loves ; 
The  same  law  governs,  where  the  billows  roar, 
And  Proteus*  shoals  overspread  the  desert  shore ; 
17  » 


198      TMNSLATiO^S  FROM  MlVrOU 
The  sparrow,  meanest  of  the  foatlicr'd  race, 
Hii  fit  compi^uon  Bnda  in  every  place,      * 
With  whom  ho  pioks  the  grain  that  suits  hini  hesti 
Flirts  hero  and  thero,  And  h%!^  return^  to  rest^ 
And  whom  if  cl^ance  the  falcon  make  his  pre/^ 
Or  bedger  with  his  well  a^n'4  arrow  ftlay, 
For  no  such  loss  the  gaj  survivor  grieves : 
New  love  he  9oeka,  «M3d  n^w  deUgbVr^celveSi 
We  only,  an  ol^durate  ki|id>  rejoice, 
Scorning  all  others,  in  a  single  choice. 
We  scarce  in  thousands  meet  one  kindred  nuQ^ 
And  if  the  long-sought  good  at  last  we  find. 
When  least  we  fi?^  it«  Peath  our  treasure  steal^ 
And  gives  our  hear,t  a  woimd  that  notlung  hcais. 

**  Go,  go,  mv  lambs,  nnpastur'd  as  ye  are ; 
My  thoughts  are  all  now  due  to  other  care. 
Ah,  what  delui^ion  lur'd  me  from  my  fiocks. 
To  traverse  Alpine  snows,  i^iid  rugged  rocks ' 
Wliat  need  so  g^at  ha4  I  to  visit  Home, 
Now  sunk  in  ruin9»  uxd  herself  a  tomb  ? 
Or,  had  she  ^urioh'd  still,  aj  when  of  old, 
For  her  (^ake  Jityrns  foraook  his  fold, 
What  need. so  great  bad  1 1'  incur  a  pausp 
Of  thy  sweet  intercourse  for  such  a  causei 
For  such  a  cau«e  to  place  the  roaring  sea, 
Rocks,  mountains,  woods,  between  my  friend  and  met 
Else,  bad  I  grasp.'d  tlgr  feeble  hand,  compos'd 
Thy  decent  limbs,  thy  drooping  eyeHids  clos*d, 
And,  at  the  last,  had  9aid — ^  Farewcll-r-ascend — ' 
Nor  even  in  the  j^kies  forget  thy  friend !' 

"  Cro,  go,  my  lambs,  untended  homeward  ftre.; 
My  thongJiUa  are  all  now  due  to  other  care. 
Although  well-pleas'd,  ye  tuneful  Tuscan  sw^ijos ! 
My  mind  the  mem'ry  of  your  worth  retails, 
Yet  not  your  worth  can  teach  me  less  to  mourn 
My  Damon  lost.    He  too  was  Tuscan  born 


"^^ 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON.        199 
Bom  in  yoar  Lucca^  city  of  renown  ! 
And  wit  possefls'd,  and  genius,  like  yoar  own. 
Oh  how  elate  was  I,  when  stretched  beside 
The  murm'ring  course  of  Arno's'  breezy  tide, 
Beneath  the  poplar  grove  I  passed  my  hours, 
Now  cropping-  myrtles,  and  now  vernal  flow'rs, 
And  hearing,  as  I  lay  at  ease  along, 
Tour  swains  contending  for  the  prize  of  song  ! 
I  also  dar'd  attempt  (and,  as  it  seems, 
Not  mpch  displeased  attempting)  various  theoMCy 
For  even  I  caa  presents  boast  from  you,       c- 
The  shepherd's  pipe,  and  ozier  basket  too. 
And  Dati,  and  Francini,  both  have  made 
My  name  familiar  to  the  boechen  shade. 
And  they  are  learned,  and  each  in  ev'ry  placo 
Renown'd  for  song,  and  both  of  Lydian  race 

<<  Go,  go,  my  Iambs,  untended  homeward  ^e , 
My  thoughts  are  all  now  due  to  other  caro. 
While  bright  the  dewy  grass  with  moon-beams  shoiie. 
And  I  stood  hurdling  in  my  kids  alone, 
How  oflen  have  I  said  (but  thou  hudst  Ibund 
Ere  then  thy  dark  cold  lodgm^it  under  ground 
Now  Damon  sings,  or  springes  sets  for  hares 
Or  wicker-work  for  various  use  prepares ! 
How  oft,  indulging  ftney,  have  I  plann'd 
New  scenes  of  pleasure,  that  I  hop'd  at  band, 
Called  theo  abroad  as  I  was  wont,  and  cried —         ^ 
<  What  hoa  !  my  friend— <3ome  lay  thy  task  amde, 
Haste,  let  us  forth  together,  and  beguile 
The  heat,  beneath  yon  whisp*ring  shades  awhile 
Or  on  the  margin  stray  of  Colne's  clear  flood, 
Or  where  Cassibelan's  grey  turrets  stood ! 
There  thou  shalt  cull  me  simples,  and  shalt  teaeh 
Thy  friend  the  name,  and  healing  pow'rs  of  each, 
From  the  tall  Uae>bell  to  the  dwarfish  weed, 
What  the  dry  land,  and  what  the  marshes  breed, 


300      TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON. 

For  all  their  kinds  alike  to  thee  are  known. 

And  the  whole  art  of  Galen  is  thy  own.* 

Ah,  perish  Galen's  art,  and  withered  bo 

The  useless  herbs,  that  gave  not  health  to  thee ! 

Twelve  evenings  since,  as  in  poetick  dream 

1  meditating  sat  some  statelier  theme. 

The  reeds  no  sooner  touch'd  my  Up,  though  new, 

And  unassay'd  before,  than  wide  they  flew. 

Bursting  their  waxen  bands,  nor  could  sustain 

The  d«^-ton'd  musick  of  the  solemn  strain ; 

And  J  am  vain  perhaps,  but  I  will  tell 

How  proud  a  theme  I  chose— ye  groves,  farewell 

"  Go,  go,  my  lambs,  untended  homeward  fiire ; 
My  thoughts  are  all  now  due  to  other  care. 
Of  Brutus,  Dardan  chief,  my  song  shall  be, 
How  with  his  barks  he  ploughed  the  British  sea. 
First  from  Rutupia's  tow'ring  headland  seen, 
And  of  hit  consort's  reign,  £ur  Imogen ; 
Of  Brennus,  and  Belinus,  brothers  bold, 
.  And  of  Arviragns,  and  how  of  old 
Our  hardy  sires,  th'  Armoriean  controU'd, 
And  of  the  wife  of  Gxkrlois,  who,  surprised 
By  Uther,  in  her  husband's  form  di^uis'd, 
(Such  was  the  force  of  Merlin's  art)  became 
Pregnant  with  Arthur  of  heroick  fame, 
'fhose  themes  I  now  revolve— and  Oh — if  Faie 
Proportion  to  these  themes  my  lengthen'd  date, 
Adieu,  my  shepherd's  reed — ^yon  pine-tree  bough 
Shall  bo  thy  future  home,  there  dangle  thou 
Forgotten  and  di^us'd,  unless  ere  long 
Thou  change  thy  Iiatian  for  a  British  soug; 
A  Hritisii  ?-— even  eo — ^the  pow'rs  of  nian 
Are  bounded  ;  little  is  the  most  he  can ; 
Atul  it  shall  well  sulHoo  me,  and  shall  be 
F:iiuc,  and  proud  recompense  enough  for  mtf, 
«''  V.sH,  ffoldeu-hair'd,  my  verse  may  learn, 
'»'  Alain,  htmding  o'er  his  crystal  urn. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON.      20i 
Swift-whirling  Abra,  Trent's  o^ershadow'd  itream, 
Thames,  lovelier  far  than  all  in  my  esteem, 
Tamar's  ore-tinctur'd  flood,  and,  after  these, 
The  wave-worn  shores  of  utmost  Orcades. 


"  Cro,  go,  my  Iambs,  nntended  homeward  fare ; 
My  thoughts  are  all  now  due  to  other  care. 
All  this  I  kept  m  leaves  of  laurel-rind 
Enfolded  safe,  and  for  thy  view  designed, 
This-^and  a  gift  from  Manso's  hand  besidoi 
(Manso,  not  least  his  native  city's  pride,) 
Two  cups,  that  radiant  as  their  giver  shone^ 
Adom'd  by  sculpture  with  a  double  zone. 
The  spring  was  graven  there  ;  here  slowly  wind 
The  Red-sea  shores,  with  groves  of  spices  lin'd } 
Her  plumes  of  various  hues  amid  the  boughs 
The  sacred,  solitary  PhcBniz  shows ; 
And  watchful  of  the  dawn,  reverts  her  head, 
To  see  Aurora  leave  her  wat'ry  bed. 
— ^In  other  part,  th*  expansive  vault  above, 
And  there  too,  even  there,  the  God  of  Love 
With  quiver  arm'd  he  mounts,  his  torch  displays 
A  vivid  light,  his  gem-tipt  arrows  bhue. 
Around  his  bright  ^d  fiery  eyes  he  rolls,      • 
Nor  aims  at  vulgar  minds,  or  little  souls, 
Nor  deigns  one  look  below,  but  aiming  high| 
Sends  every  arrow  to  the  lofty  sky ; 
Hence  forms  divine,  and  minds  immortal,  learn 
The  pow*r  of  Cupid,  and  enamour'd  burn. 

"  Thou  also,  Damon,  (neither  need  I  fear 
That  hope  delusive,)  thou  art  also  there ; 
For  whither  should  simplicity  like  thine 
Retire,  where  else  such  spotless  virtue  shine  ? 
Thou  dweU'st  not  (thought  profane)  in  shades  bcloW| 
Nor  tears  suit  thee — cease  then  my  tears  to  flow, 
Away  with  grief:  on  Damon  ill-bestow'd ! 
Who,  pure  himself,  has  found  a  pure  abode, 


802      TRAKSLATICNS  IHOM  MIl.TON. 
Has  passed  the  show'ry  arch,  henceforth  reside! 
With  saints  and  heroes,  and  from  (lowing  tides 
Quaffs  copious  immortality,  and  joy^ 
With  hallow'd  lips !— Oh  !  blest  without  alloy, 
And  now  cnrich'd,  with 'all  that  faith  can  claim 
Look  down,  entreated  by  whatever  name, 
If  Damon  please  thee  most,  (that  rural  sound 
Shall  oil  with  echoes  fill  the  groves  around,) 
Or  if  Diodatus,  by  which  alone 
In  those  ethereal  mansions  thou  art  known. 
Thy  blush  was  maiden,  uul  thy  youth  the  taste 
Of  wedded  bliss  knew  never,  pure  and  chaste. 
The  honours,  tlierefore,  by  divine  decree 
The  lot  of  virgin  worth  are  given  to  thee ; 
Thy  brows  encircled  with  a  radiant  band, 
And  the  green  palm-branch  waving  In  thy  hand| 
Thou  in  immortal  nuptials  shalt  rejoice,  • 
And  join  with  seraphs  thy  according  voice, 
Where  rapture  reigns,  and  the  ecstatick  lyre 
Guides  the  blest  orgies  of  the  Uizing  choii." 


(  203  ) 


AN  ODE 


▲DDRB8SED   TO 


MIL  JOHN  ROUSE,  LIBRARIAN, 

OF  THS   UNITZraiTT  OF  OXFORD, 

Oil  a  lost  Vohtme  of  my  Poems,  which  he  desired  m% 

to  rtplaeSf  that  he  might  add  them  to  my  other 

Works  deposited  in  the  Library, 


This  Ode  is  rendered  without  rbjine,  that  it  might 
more  adequately  represent  the  original,  which,  as 
Milton  himself  informs  us,  is  of  no  certain  measure 
It  may  possibly  for  this  reason  disappoint  the  reader, 
diough  it  cost  the  Writer  more  labour  than  the  transla- 
tion of  any  other  piece. in  the  whole  collection. 


Mt  two-fold  book !  single  in  ^liow 

But  double  in  contents, 
Neat,  but  net  curiously  adorn'd. 

Which,  in  his  early  youth, 
A  poet  gave,  no  lofty  one  in  truth, 
Although  an  earnest  wooer  of  tlie  Muse- 
Say  while  in  cool  Ausonian  shades, 


204      TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTOh 

Or  British  wilds  he  roam*d, 

Striking  by  turns  his  native  lyre. 

By  turns  the  Daunian  lute, 

AjkI  Btepp*d  almost  in  air^— ^ 

▲VTISTBOPHS. 

UtLff  lUUe  book,  If  hat  furtrre  hand 
Thee  from  thy  fellow-books  oonvey'dy 
What  tuBOi  at  the  repeated  suit 
Of  my  most  learned  friend, 
I  sent  thee  forth  an  hooonr'd  traTell^^ 
From  our  great  city  to  the  source  of  Thames,  . 

Cervlean  sire  I 
Where  rise  the  fountains,  and  the  rapture  ring 
Of  the  Aonian  choir, 
Durable  as  yonder  spheres, 
And  through  the  endless  lapse  of  years 
Secure  to  be  adpiar'd  ? 

Now  wnftt  Crotz,  or  xjom^god} 
For  Britain's  itocient  ii^enius  m<iv% 

(If  our  afflicted  land 
Hare  expiated  at  length  the  guilty  sloth 
Of  her  degenerate  sons) 
Shall  terminate  our  impious  feuds, 
And  discipline,  with  hflfiow'd  voice  reeaH? 
Recall  the  Muses  too, 
Privld  fifom  thoir  i^eieht  seats 
In  Albion,  and  well  nigh  from  Albion^  ti^fkOf 
And  wi^  keen  Phosbean  shafts 
Piercing  th*  unseemly  birds. 
Whoso  talotts  menace  us, 
0hftU  drive  the  Harpy  r^irc  from  Hplicon  ttfir. 


1?ftAN6LATIONS  FROM  MILTON.      90S 

^BTUTKOPlkX. 

But  thou,  my  book,  Uiough  thou  hant  ftraj'd 
Whether  by  treach'ry  loet^ 
Or  indolent  neglect,  thy  bearer*?  ^nlt, 

From  all  thy  kMaed  bodui, 
To  aome  dark  oeJ,  or  cave  forlomt 

Where  thou  endur^st,  perhapt,   . 
The  chafing  of  some  hard  untutored  hand, 

Be  comforted — 
For  lo  !  agam  the  splendid  hope  appears 

That  thou  ma]^  yet  escape 
The  gulfs  of  Lethe,  and  on  oary  wmgs 
Mount  to  the  everlasting  courts  of  Jove ! 

STPOPHE  III. 

Since  Rouse  diesires  thee,  and  complains 
That,  though  by  promise  his. 
Thou  yet  appear'st  not  in  thy  place 
Among  the  literary  noble  stores 

Giv'n  to  his  car*, 
But,  absent,  leav'st  his  numbers  incon)plat% 
He,  thereforo,  guardian  vig^ilant 

Of  that  unperisliing  wealth, 
Calls  thee  to  the  interiour  shrine,  his  char||i9| 
Where  he  intends  a  richer  treasure  far 
Than  Ion  kept  (Ion,  Erecthous*  son 
Illustrious,  of  the  fair  Creusa  born) 
In  the  resplendent  temple  of  his  God, 
Tripods  of  gold  and  Delphick  gifts  divine. 

▲NTISTROPHE. 

Haste,  then,  to  the  pleasant  grovoSi 
The  Muses'  fav'rite  haunt ; 
Resume  thy  station  in  Apollo's  dome 
Vol.  III.  18 


IOC      TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON 

Pearor  to  him 
Than  Delos,  or  the  fbrk'd  Parnaswan  hill ! 

Exulting  go, 
Since  now  a  ^>}endi^  lot  is  also  thine, 
And  thon  art  songht  by  my  propitious  friend; 

For  there  thou  shalt  be  read 
With  authors  of  exalted  note, 
The  ancient  gbripua  lights  of  Greece  and  Rdmi 


XFODZ. 

Ye  then,  my  works,  no  longer  vain, 
And  worthless  deem'd  by  me  ! 
Whatever  this  sterile  genius  has  produced, 
Ezpeet,  at  last,  the  rage  of  envy  spent, 
An  unmolested  happy  home, 
Gift  of  kind  Hermes,  and  my  watchful  friend, 
Where  never  flippant  tongue  profane 
Shall  entrance  find, 
And  whence  the  coarse  unletterM  multitude 
Shall  babble  far  remote. 
Perhaps  some  future  distant  age. 
Loss  ting*d  with  prejudice,  and  better  taught, 
Shan  furnish  minds  of  pow'r 
To  judge  more  equally. 
Then,  malice  silenced  in  the  iomh, 
Cooler  heads  and  sounder  hearts, 
Thanks  to  Rouse,  if  aught  of  praiso 
!  merit,  shall  with  candoui  weigh  Iho  claim. 


(207) 
TRANSLATIONS 

OF 

THE  ITALIAN  POEMS. 


SONNET. 

Fair  Lady,  whose  harmonions  name  the  Rhine, 
Through  all  his  grassy  vale,  delights  to  hear, 
Base  were  indeed  the  wretch,  who  could  forhear 

To  love  a  spirit  elegant  as  thine, 

That  manifhstfl  a  sweetness  all  divine, 
Nor  knows  a  thousand  winning  acts  to  spare» 
AfkA  graces,  which  Lovers  how  and  arrows  are. 

Tempering  thy  virtues  to  a  softer  shine. 

When  gracefully  thou  speah'st  or  sin^st  gay. 
Such  stndns,  as  might  the  sexfteless  forest  movoi 

Ah  then — ^tum  each  his  eyes,  and  ears,  away. 
Who  feels  himself  unworthy  of  thy  love ! 

Grace  can  alone  preserve  him,  ere  the  dart 

Of  fond  desire  yet  reach  his  inmost  heart. 

SONETTO. 

DbffVA  legi^adra,  11  cui  bel  nome  honora 
Llierhosa  val  di.Rheno,  o  il  nobil  vaxcoy 
Bene  e  colui  d'ogni  valore  scarce,    - 
Qual  tuo  spirto  gentil  non  innamora; 
,  Che  dolcemente  mostra  si  di  fuora 
De  sui  atti  soavi  giammai  parco, 


208       TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON 
F  i  don,*  che  son  d^amor  saette  ed  arco, 
La  onde  lalta  tua  virtu  sUnfiora. 

Quando  tu  vaga  parli,  o  lieta  Canti, 
CIi6  mover  possa  duro  alpestre  legno, 
Gaardi  ciascun  a  gli  occhi,  ed  a  gli  orecchi 

L'entrata,  chi  di  tre  si  truova  indegno ; 
Grazia  sola  di  su  gli  vaglia,  innanti 
Ghdl  disk)  cmoroso  al  cuor  A'lnveccbi. 


'  SONNET. 

As  on  a  hill-top  rude,  when  closing  day 

Imbrowns  the  scene,  some  past'ral  maiden  fair 
Waters  a  lovely  ibreign  plant  with  care. 
Borne  Irora  its  native  genial  airs  away, 
TJbat  scarcely  can  its  tender  bud  diapbiy : 
So,  on  my  tongue  theye  accents,  new,  and  rste^ 
Are  flow'rs  exutick,  which  Lore  waters  thertf^    . 
While  thus,  O  sweetly  seernlul  i  I  essay 
Thy  praise,  in  verse  to  British  ears  unSmown^ 
And  Thames  e^^ohaage  for  Arsons  fair  dooi&'m ; 
So  love  ias  willed,  and  of\times  Love  has  sbowaf 
That  what  he  wills,  he  never  wills  m.  vain. 
Oh  that  this  hard  and  sterile  breast  might  be, 
To  Him,  who  plants  from  Heav'ta,  a  soil  ad  fre*! 


SONETTO. 

QuAL  in  colle  aspro,  al  imbmnlr  di  sera, 
L'awez7.a  giovinetta  pastorella 
Va  bagnando  I'herbetta  strana  e  beHa, 
Che  mal  ei  spande  a  dimisata  spent, 
Fuor  di  sua  natia  alma  primavcra  f 
Cosi  Amor  meco  insu  la  Kngua  snella 
Desta  il  fior  novo  di  strania  favella,    ' 
Mcntre  io  di  te  rezzosamente  altera^ 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON       209 
Canto,  dal  mio  buon  popol  non  inteso. 

E'l  bel  Tamigi  cangio  col  bel  Amo,'  • ' 

Amor  lo  volsoy  ed  io  a  T  altrai  peso, 
deppi,  ch'Amor  cosa  mai  volse  indarno, 

Deh !  fi>s'  il  mio  cuor  lento,  o'l  duro  seno, 

A  clii  pianta  dal  ciel,  si  buon  terreno ! 


CANZONE. 

They  mock  mj  toil — the  nymphs  and  am*rous  swamt 

And  whence  this  fond  attempt  to  write,  they  cry, 

Love-songs  in  language  that  thou  little  know'st  ? 

Qow  dar'st  thou  risk  to  sing  these  foroign  strains  ^ 

Say  truly.     Fmd*st  not  oft  thy  purpose  crossed. 

And  that  thy  fairest  flowers,  here  fade  and  die  ? 

Then  with  pretence  of  admiration  high— ^ 

Thee  other  shores  expect,  and  other  tides, 

Rivers,  on  whose  grassy  sides 

Her  deathless  laurel  leaf,  with  which  to  bind 

Thy  flowing  locks,  already  Fame  provides ; 

Why  then  this  burtiien,  better  far  declin*d  ? 

Speak,  Muse !  for  me. — The  fair  one  said,  who  guidet 

IVIy  willing  heart,  and  ill  my  fancy's  flights, 

**  This  is  the  fonguage,  in  which  Love  delights  ** 


CANZONE. 

R1DON81  donne,  e  g^ovani  amorosi 
M'  accostandosi  attomo,  e  perche  scrivi, 
Ferche  tu  scrivi  in  lingua  ignota  e  strana 
Verseggiando  d'  amor,  e  coAe  t*  osi  ? 
Dinne,  so  la  tua  speme  sia  mai  vana, 
E  do  pensieri  lo  miglior  t'  arrivi ', 
Cosi  mi  van  burlamdo,  altri  rivi 
Altri  lidi  t'aspettan,  ed  altre  onde 
Nolle  cui  verdi  spondo 
18* 


210      TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON. 

Spuntati  ad  hor,  a  lii  tua  chioma 
*         L'  immortal  gtiidcrdon  d*  etcme  frondi 

Ferche  alle  spallo  tue  soverchia  8oma  ' 

Canzon,  dirotti,  e  tu  per  me  rispondi ' 
Dice  mia  Donna,  c*l  suo  dir  e  il  mio  cuore . 
'*  Qaesta  e  lingua,  di  cui  si  yanta  Amort. 


SONNET 

TO  CHARLES  DIODATL 

Charles — and  I  say  it  wondering — ^thoa  most  know 
That  I;  who  once  assumed  a  loonifiil  aii. 
And  scofiTd  at  love,  am  fidl^  in  his  snare^ 
(Full  many  an  upright  man  has  faUeo  eo} 
Yet  think  me  not  thus  dawled  by  the  flow 
'    Of  gelden  k»ck8,  or  damask  cheek :  more  rare 
The  hoart-felt  beauties  of  my  foreign  fair ; 
A  mien  majestick,  wi^  dark  brows  that  show 

•  The  tranquil  lustre  of  a  hifty  mind  5 
Words  ez^sHe,  of  idioms  more  than  one, 
And  song,  whose  fiiaGinating  pow'r  might  bind-,  . 
And  from  her  sphere  draw  down  the  lab'ring  Moon 
With  such  fire  darting  eyes,  that  should.  I  fill 
My  ears  with  wax,  she  woul4  enchant  me  still. 

SONETTO. 

DioDAM,  e  te*l  diro  con  maraviglia, 
Quel  ritroBo  io,  cli'amor  spreggiar  s<^6ii, 
£  de  suoi  lacei  spesso  mi  ridea, 
Gia  caddi,  oyliuom  dabben  talhor  slmpi^&i^ 

Ne  treccie  d*  oro,  ne  guancia  vermiglSa 
M'  abbaglian  si,  ma  sotto  nuoya  idea 
Pellegrina  boUezza,  che'l  cuor  bea. 


TJUN3LATI0NS  FROM  lOLTOll. 

Portam^nti  idti  bonesti,  e  nelle  eigUa 

Quel  8er9iio  fulgor  d'amabil  nero, 

Parole  adorne,  di  lingua  piu  d'ana, 
£1  cantar,  che  di  mezzo  rhemispero 

Traviar  ben  pao  la  faticosa  Lanay 

£  degli  occhi  Bnoi  ayyenta  si  gran  fuoco, 
Che  rincerar  gli  orecchi  mi  fia  poco. 


211 


SONNET. 

Ladt  !  It  eannot  1»e,  bnt  tbat  thine  eyes 

Most  be  mj  son,  such  radiance  ^ey  display^ 
And  fl(r9ce  ne  e*ton  as  Flraebus  faim,  whose  waj 
Through  horrid  Lybta's  sandy  desert  Ber. 
Meantime,  on  that  side  steamy  raponrs  rise 

Where  most  I  snfler.    Of  wfasi  liind  at«  flii»y^  * 
New  as  to  me  they  are,  I  cannot  say, 
Bat  deem  them,  in  the  lover's  hmgnagv-^inghs. 
Some,  though  with  pun,  my  bosom  c\ob9  eenoeiAs) 
Which,  if  in  part  escaping  thence,  they  telid 
To  soften  thine,  thy  coldness  soon  eengedb,     . 
While  others  to  my.  tearful  eyes  ascend. 
Whence  my  sad  nights  mshow^s  are  ever  dronn  4, 
Till  my  Aurora  comes,  her  brow  with  roses  bouw. 


SONETTGv 

Pes  certo  i  bei  vostr'occhi,  Donna  mia, 

£sser  non  puo,  che  non  sian  lo  mio  solo^ 
Si  mi  percuoton  forte,  come  ei  suole 
Per  I'arene  di  Libia,  chi  s'invia : 

Mentre  on  caldo  vapor  (ne  senti  pria) 

Da  quel  lato  si  spinge,  ove  mi  duolo, 
Che  forse  amanti  nelle  lor  parole, 
Chiaman  sospir ;  io  non  so  che  si  sia : 

Pirte  riachiusa,  e  turbida  si  cela 

Scoeso  mi  Jl  petto,  e  poi  n'uscendo  poor 
Quivi  d'  attorno  o  s'agghiaccia,  o  s'ingi 


=1 


212      TRANSLATIONS  FROM  MILTON. 
Ma  qn&nto  a  gli  occhi  giungo  a  trovar  loco 

Tatte  le  notti  a  me  suol  far  piovose  4 

Finche  mia  Alba  livien,  eolma  di  rose. 

SONNET. 

EviMOUB*D}  artlesfly  young,  on  foreign  ground) 
Uncertain  whither  from  myself  to  fly. 
To  thee,  dear  lady,  with  an  hmnble  sigh 
Let  me  devote  my  heart,  which  I  have  found 
By  certain  proofs,  not  few,  intrepid,  sound, 

Good,  and  addicted  to  conceptions  high. 
When  tempeats  shake  the  world,  and  ft:e  the  sky, 
It  rests  in  adamant  self-wrapt  ajroundj 
As  nfo  icQUL  9tcry,  and  from  outrage  rude, 
From  hopes  and  fears,  that  vulgar  minds  abuse. 
As  fond  of-  genius,  and  fix'd  for^ude. 
Of  the  resounding  lyre,  and  every  Mus^. 
Weak  yoa  will  find  it  in  pue  only  part. 
Now  pierced  by  Love's  immedicable  dart. 

SONETTb. 

GiovAKE  piano,  e  semplicetto  amante, 

Foi  Qhe  fuggir  me  stesso  in  dubbio  sono, 
Madonna,  a  vol  del  mio  cuor  lliuniil  dono 
Faro  divoto ;  io  certo  a  prove  ttCnte 

L'hebbi  fedele,  intrepido,  costanto 

Do  pensieri  leggiadro,  accorto,  o  buono  ; 
Quando  rugge  il  gran  mondo,  e  scocca  il  tuono, 
S'arma  di  se,  e  d'  intero  dlamante| 

Taiito  del  forse,  e  d'  invidia  sicuro, 
Di  timori,  e  spcranze  al  popol  use 
Quanto  d'ingegno,  e  d'alto  valor  vago, 

E  di  cetra  sonora,  e  dello  Muse  : 

Sol  trovercte  in  tal  parte  inoii  duro, 
Ove  Amor  mise  Tinsanabil  a<ro. 


J 


(213) 


EPITAPH 


MRS.  M   HIGGINS,  OF  WESTON. 

[1791.J 

LaubweJ  nu£f  flourkh  rotitid  the  eon^n'ror's  tomb 
But  b^piest  they,  who  win  the  werM  to  eome  i 
Belie-vers  have  a  Mlant  field  to  fight^ 
And  their  exploits  are  veil'd  Irem  btttntm  sigliti 
They  in  ■ome  nook,  where  littio  known  they  dwell. 
Kneel,  p?ay  In  faith,  and  root  the  heats  of  KeD ; 
Eternal  triumphs  crown  their  toils  dW^ie, 
And  ail  those  tiioniphSi  Mary,  now  ate  iMM 


'      THE  RETIRED  CAT. 

[im.] 

A  PoxT't  Cat,  sedMe  and  gi^lre 
As  poet  well  covld  wish  to  have^ 
Was  much  addicted  to  tn^fcdre 
For  nooks  to  which  she  might  retire. 
And  where,  se^nfe  as  mouse  in  efalidk, 
She  might  repo«e,  or  mt  and  thiftk. 
1  know  not  where  she  caught  the  trteii-ii^ 
NaUne  perhaps  herself  had  cast  her 
In  such  a  |nould  philosopbi^oe, 
Or  else  she  learned  it  of  her  Master 


«14  THE  RETIRED  CAT. 

Sometimes  ascending,  deboi^airy 
An  apple-tree,  or  lofty  pear, 
Lodg'd  with  convenience  in  the  ibrk. 
She  watch'd  the  gard'ner  at  his  work  , 
Sometimes  her  ease  and  solace  aougkt 
In  an  old  empty  wat'ring  pot, 
There,  wanting  nothing,  save  a  fan, 
To  seem  some  nym|^  in  hex  sedan 
Apparel'd  in  ezactest  sort, 
And  ready  to  be  borne  to  court. 

But  love  of  change  it  seems  has  pkca 
Kot  only  in  omr  inser  race ; 
Cats  also  feel,  as  well  as  we, 
That  passion's  force,  and  so  did  she. 
Her  climbing,  she  began  to  find, 
Exposed  her  too  much  to  the  wind. 
And  the  old  utensil  of  tin 
Was  cold  and  con^itleas  within : 
&he,  therefore,  wbh'd  instead  of  those 
Some  place  of  more  serene  repose, 
Where  neither  oold  might  come,  nor'aif 
Too  rudely  wanton  with  her  hair, 
And  sought  it  in  the  likeliest  mode 
Within  her  master's  snug  i^>qde. 

A  draw*r,  it  cb^nc'd  at  bottom  lin'd 
With  linen  of  the  softest  kind, 
With  such  as  merchants  introduce 
From  India,  for  the  ladies*  use, 
A  drawer  impending  o'er  the  rest, 
Half  open  in  the  ti^pmost  chest, 
Of  depth  enough,  and  none  to  spare, 
Invited  her  to  slosober  tliere .; 
Pass  with  delight,  beyond  ezpresnon, 
Snrvey'd  the  scene,  and  took  possessien : 
Recumbent  at  her  case,  ere  long. 
And  lull'd  by  her  own  humdrum  Bcngf 


y:^ 


tHE  RETIRED  CAT.  215 

She  left  the  eare«  of  life  bohmd,     ' 
And  slept  as  she  would  sleep  her  last, 
When  m  came,  housewifely  inclined, 
The  chambermaid,  and  shut  It  fast, 
By  no  toaTignity  impelled. 
But  all  unconscious  whom  it  held. 

Awakened  by  the  shock,  (cried  pvss) 
*^  Was  ever  cat  attended  thus  1 
The  open  draw  was  left  1  see, 
Merely  to  prove  a  nest  for  me, 
For  foon  as  I  was  well  composed, 
Then  came  the  maid,  and  it  was  clos*d. 
How  smooth  these  ^kerchiefs  and  hoW  sweet  ^ 
Oh  what  a  delicate  retreat ! 
I  will  resign  myself  to  rest 
Till  Sol  decliiting  in  the  west. 
Shall  call  to  supper,  when  no  doubt, 
Susan  will  oome  and  let  me  out." 

The  evening  came,  the  sun  descended, 
And  PiUNi  remained  still  unattended. 
The  night  roll'd  tardily  away, 
(With  her  indeed  Hwas  never  day,) 
The  sprightly  morn  her  course  renew'd, 
The  evening  gray  again  ensu'd. 
And  Puss  came  into  mind  no  more. 
Than  if  entomb'd  the  day  before. 
With  hunger  pinch'd,  and  pinch*d  for  room. 
She  now  presag'd  approaching  doom, 
Nor  slept  a  single  wink,  or  purr'd,    . 
C)onsciou8  of  jeopardy  incurred ! 

That  night,  by  chance,  the  poet  watching, 
Heard  an  inexplicable  scratching ; 
His  noble  heart  went  pit-a-pat. 
And  to  himself  he  said '<  what's  that  r* 


216  THE  EETIRED  CAT. 

He  drew  the  curtain  at  his  ^{de. 
And  forth  ho  peep*d,  but  nothin^^  Sf^M. 
Yet,  by  hii  ear  directed,«gue8s'd 
Something  imprisoa'd  in  tbo  chest. 
And,  doubtful  what,  with  prudent  c^re 
Re8<dv*d  it  ihouid  continue  there. 
At  length  a  Toice  wnich  well  he  knew, 
A  long  and  melancholj  me v. 
Saluting  his  poetick  ears, 
Consord  him,  and  dispell'd  his  Cearti^ 
He  left  his  bed,  he  trod  the  floor. 
He  'gan  in  haste  the  liraw'rs  t'  eudc^ 
The  lowest  first,  and  without  slto^ 
The  rest  in  order  to  the  top* 
For  *tis  a  truth  well  known  to  mp^t, 
That  whatsoever  thing  is  lost. 
We  seek  it,  ere  it  come  to  light^ 
In  ev*ry  cranny  but  the  right 
Forth  skipp'd  the  cat,  not  now  replete 
As  erst  with  airy  self-conceit. 
Nor  in  her  own  fond  i^prehe^slon 
A  theme  for  all  the  world's  attention.* 
But  modest,  sober,  cur*d  of  all 
Her  notions  hyperbolical,       • 
And  wishing  for  a  place  of  rest, 
Any  thing  rather  than  a  chest. 
Then  stepp'd  the  jpoet  into  bed 
With  this  reflfiQUom  in  his  he^ 

MORAL, 

Beware  of  too  sublime  9k  senae 
Of  your  own  worth  end  coneequenofti 
The  man  who  dreams  himself  so  great, 
And  hx8  importance  of  soeb  weight, 
That  all  around  in  all  tint's  done 
Must  move  and  act  for  Him  alone^   ,. 
We  learn  in  school  of  trtbulatf^ 
Tbo  folly  of  his  expiectation. 


(2171 


YARDLEY  OAK. 


£1791.] 

ScRVivoR  sole,  and  hardly  nieh,  elf  aH, 
Tliat  once  liv'd  here,  Hty  brethren,  at  my  htrtiiy 
(Since  which  I  number  threeicore  winCen  fiaity) 
A  shattered  T(t*raii,  hoUow-tmnk'd  perhap^^ 
Ai  now,  and  with  excoriate  forks  deform, 
Aelicka  of  Agea !  Cenld  a  mind,  imbued 
With  truth  from  Heaven,  created  thing  adore, 
I  might  with  rey*ronee  ki>eel,  and  worship  the«. 

It  seems  idolatr/  with  some  excuse, 
When  our  forefather  Driiids  in  their  oaks 
Imagined  sanctity.    The  conscience,  yet 
Unpnrified  by  an  authehtick  act 
Of  amnesty,  the  meed  of  blood  divine, 
Lov'd  not  the  light,  but,  gloomy,  into  gloom 
Of  thickest  shades,  like  Adam  after  taste 
Of  firuit  proscribed,  as  to  a  refuge,  ^d. 

v^^Thon  wast  a  bauble  once ;  a  cup  and  ball, 
Which  babes  might  ptey  wil^ ',  and  the  iStterish  Jty, 
Seeking  her  £»od,  with  ease  might  have  purioinM 
The  Aubum  nut  ^at  held  thee,  swallowing  down 
Thy  yet  close-fblded  latHnde  of  bomghB,      / 
And  all  thine  enriS^ryo  va^tness  at  a  gulp. . 
But  Fate  thy  g^M/iM  deereed ;  autumnal  rainf 
B&'ieath  thy  pi^ent  tree  meliow'd  the  soil 
Designed  thy  cradle ;  and  a  skipping  deer. 
With  pointed  hoof  dibbling  the  glebe,  pre|»arVI 
The  soU  receptacle,  in  which,  secure, 
Thy  rudiments  should  sleep  the  winter  through 
7ot.  III.  19 


218  YARDLEY  OAK. 

So  Fancy  dreams.    Disprove  it,  if  ye  can. 
Ye  reaa'ners  broad  awake,  wfaoee  busy  searcb 
Of  argument,  employ*d  too  ofl  amiss, 
Sifts  half  the  pleasures  of  short  life  away ! 

Thou  fell*8t  mature  :  and  in  the  loamy  clod 
Swelling  with  vegetatiTe  force  instinct 
Didst  burst  thine  egg,  as  theirs  the  &bled  Twins, 
Now  stars ;  two  lobes,  protruding,  pair'd  exact ; 
A  leaf  snoiceeded,  and  axiotUor  leafy    . 
And,  aH  the  elemsnta thy  pimy  gsowftht  -i 
Foet'rmg  prepitiwuij  tlrao  btamn'it  »4wj|g. . 

Who  liv'd  when  thou  wast  such  ?  Oh,  couktet  thou 
•    speak,  ' '  /'      '    ' 

As  in  Dodona  ottdo  thy  kindred  trees 
Oracular,  I  would  not  curious,  ask 
The  future,  best  iinkndi^Ti,  but  at  thy  niouth 
Inquisitive,  the  lessUmbiguouffpasf.  ""'       '^-  ^ 

By  thee  I  might  oorrect|  etjron^ou^^p^t, 
The  clock  of  history;  facts  i^nd  events 
Timing  more  punctual,  unrecprded  facts 
Recov'ring,  and  misstated  sf  ftii]^  ri^h|-T- — 
Desp'rate  attempt  till  trees  shall  ispeak  again ! 

Time  made  thee  what  lb«a  wast,  king  of  the  woods 
And  Time  hath  made  thee'wha*  thou  ait— a  cave  . 
For  owls  to  roost  in.    OUce  thy  i^reading  boughs 
Overhung  the  champaign ;  and  the  numerous  flocks 
That  graz'd  it,  stood  beneath  that  ample  cope 
Uncrowded,  yet  safershelter'd  from  the  storm. 
No  flock  frequents  thee  now.    Tlrou  hast  outHv'd 
Thy  popularity,  and  art  become 
(Unless  verse  rescue  thee  awhile)  a  thing 
Forgotten,  as  the  foIia/]re  of  tl^  youth. 


YARDLEY  OAK.  2X9 

Whilo  tbtui  throil^h  all  the  stage»  thou  hast  pmh'd 
Of  tree«hi|H*fif»t  a  see^n^,  hid  in  grass ', 
Then  twig ;  then  fapUng  ^  andj  ius  cent'ry  joU'd 
Slow  after  eentnrjy  a  gtant4ii;dk   ' 
Of  girth  enormous,  with  nioss'cucdiion'd  root 
Upheav'd  abovathe  myil,  and  sidQs  emboss'd 
With  prominent  wans  globose — ^till.at  the  lost 
The  rottenness,  which  time  is  charged  to  inflict 
On  other  migh^^  fm^  /ound  also ,  thee. 


What  exhibi^ons  va«*ious  hath  the  world   , 
Witness'd  of  mutability  la  all 
That  we  accouiii  most  d^ablo  below  ! 
Change  is  the  diet  on  w^teh  all  subsist,  -   .». 
Created  changeable,  itod  change  at  last 
Destroys  theip.    Skies  uncertain  now  the  heat  * 
TransmitJJing  ,(?loa^s8,  and  the  solar  beam 
Now  <inene^iiig  in  a  boundless  sea  of  cloud0 — 
Calm  and  .alternate  atqnn,  moisture  and  drought, 
Invigorf^t^  by  turns  tl^  springs  of  life     . 
In  all  that  liYe,^plaxit,  animal,  and  man,   . 
And  in  con^kisien  mar  ^em.    Nature's  threads, 
Fine  passii^  thought,  e'en  in  her  Coarsest  works, 
Delight  in,  iigitation,  3ret  sustain 
The  force,  that  agitates^  not  unimpairfd ;  • 

But,  worn  by  frequent  impulse,  to  the  cause 
Of  their  best  tone  their  dissolution  owe. 

Thought  cannot  q;>end  itself,  comparing  still 
The  great  and  Uttle  of  thy  lot,  thy  growth 
From  almost  nullity  into  a  state 
Of  matchless  grandeur,  and  declension  thence, 
Slow,  into  such  magnificent  deca^ 
Time  was,  when,  settling  on  thy  leaf,  a  fly 
Could  shakQ  thee  to  the  root — ^and  time  has  been 
When  tempests  could  not.    At  thy  firmest  ago 
Thou  hadst  within  thy  bole  solid  contents. 
That  might  have  ribb'd  the  sides  and  plank'd  the  dock 


^20  YARDLEY  OAK. 

Of  fome  flagg*d  adminl ;  aod  tortuoui  mmifi 
The  shipwright's  darling  tremsony  didst  presmi 
To  the  foor-qusrter'd  winds,  robust  and  bold, 
'Warp'd  into  tough  knee-tbniMr,*  many  a  load ! 
But  the  aze  spared  thee.    In  thoas  thriftier  dayi 
Oaks  fell  not,  hewn  b  f  thonsandsy  to  mppLj 
The  bottomless  demands  of  contest,  wag*d 
For  senatorial  honours.    Thus  to  Time 
The  task  was  left  to  whittle  thee  away 
With  his  sly  scythe,  whose  ever  nibbling  edge, 
Noiseless,  an  atom,  and  an  atom  more. 
Disjoining  from  the  rest,  has,  nnobeerr^l, 
AchieT*d  a  labour,  which  had  far  and  wide. 
By  man^perform*d,  made  all  the  forest  ring. 

EmboweU'd  now,  and  of  thy  ancient  setf 
Possessing  nought  but  the  scoop*d  rind,  that 
An  huge  throat,  calling  to  the  clouds  for  drink. 
Which  it  would  give  in  rivulets  to  thy  root. 
Thou  temptest  none,  but  rather  much  foibidd*^ 
The  feller's  toil,  which  thou  couldei  iH  Te<{i^e. 
Yetjs  thf  r^*  «ni*ftri»^  mntmA  m  the  roA. 
Aqnarry  of  stout  spunu  and  knotted  hnfSy 
Whicl^.  crook*d  into  a  thousand  whimriesT^asp. 
TBie*Btubbom  soil,  and  hold  thee  still  erect. 

So  stands  a  kingdom,  whose  fbundatlon  yet 
Fails  not,  in  virtue  and  in  wisdom  laid, 
Though  all  the  superstructure,  by  the  tooth 
Tulveriz'd  of  venality,  a  shell 
Stands  now,  and  somblaneo  only  of  itself  t 

Thine  arms  have  left  thoo.    Winds  have  rent  them 
off 
Ijong  since,  and  rovei»  of  the  fbrest  wild 

*  Knee-Timber  is  fomnd  in  the  crooked  arms  of  oak,  which, 
c>y  reason  of  their  distortion,  are  easily  adjusted  to  the  Vt^gle 
(brmed  where  the  deck  and  tlie  ship's  sides  meet. 


YARDLEY  OAK.  221 

With  bow  and  shaft,  have  burnt  them.    Some  hare 

left 
A  8plmter*d  stump,  bleached  to  a  snowy  white  ; 
And  some,  memorial  none  where  once  they  grew. 
Yet  life  still  lingers  in  thee,  and  puts  forth 
Proof  not  contemptible  of  what  she  can, 
Even  where  death  predominates.    The  spring 
Finds  thee  not  less  alive  to  her  sweet  force 
Than  yonder  upstarts  of  the  neighboring  wood. 
So  much  thy  juniors,  who  their  birth  receiv'd 
Half  a  millennium  ^we  l&e  date  of  thlae. 
But  since,  although  well  qualified  by  age 
To  teach,  no  spirit  dwells  in  thee,  nor  vmce 
May  be  expected  from  thee,  seated  here 
Op  thy  distorted  root,  with  hearers  none 
Or  prompter,  save  the  scene,  I  wiil  perform 
Myself  the  oracle,  and  Will  diseonrso  • 
In  my  own  ear  such  matter  as  I  may. 

One  man  alone,  the  father  of  us  all, 
Drew  not  his  life  from  Woman ;  never  gax'd, 
With  mute  unconsciousness  of  what  he  saw. 
On  all  around  him ;  leam*d  not  by*  degrees;, 
Nor  ow'd  articulation  to  his  ear : 
But,  moulded  by  his  Maker  into  man 
At  once,  ppstood  intelligent,  frurvey'df 
All  creatures,  with  precision  understood ' 
Their  purport,  uses,  prop^irti^,  assign^ 
To  eacn  his  name  significant,  and,  fiird 
With  love  and  wisdom,  rendered  back  to  Heav*n 
In  praise  harmonious  the  first  air  he  drew.^ 
He  was'excus'd  the  penalties  of  dull 
Minority.    No  tutor  char^'d  his  hand 
Willi  the  thought-tracing  quill,  or  task'd  his  mind 
With  problems.    History,  not  wanted  yet,  • 
Loan'd  on  her  elbow,  watching  Time,  whose  course. 
Eventful,  should  supply  her  witVa  theme  ^ 
19  ♦ 


(«) 


THE  NIGHTINGALE, 

WaiOH  TBS  AUTHOR  HXARD  tUfO  OH  NEW-TEAe'S  DAY. 

WmrcB  M  it,  that  «mai*d  I  h«v 

From  yonder  wkher'd  9px9f, 
This  foremost  mom  of  all  the  year, 

The  ro^ody  of  Ma/ ? 

And  whjTy  siiiee  thomaandB  .would  bo  proad 

Of  tneh  a  fiiTour  ehown. 
Am  I  selected  firom  the  crowd. 

To  witness  it  dQpi0? 

Sing'st  then,  sweet  Philomel,  to  mc. 

For  that  I  also  kmg 
Ha  re  praetis'd  in  the  groTes  Uke  tlieo, 

Though  not  like  thee  in  eong  ? 

Or  nng'st  timt  rather  ucder  Ibreo 

Of  some  dime  comaoaAd, 
ComroissioB'd  to  pressge  a  oourso 

Of  happier  di^  ft  hand  f 

Thrift  weleeni«9  then !  for  many  a  long 

And  joyless  year  hai^e  I, 
As  then  to^y,  put  forth  my  song 

Beneath  a  wintry  sky. 

But  thee  no  wintry  skies  can  harni; 
^      Who  only  need'st  to  sing, 
To  make  er*n  January  charm. 
And  ey*ry  season  Spring. 


L 


LINES, 

V^riiUnfar  insertion^  in  a  coUeelion  of  kand-wrtHngB 

9md  s^^TuUures  m^dt  by  Miss  Fatty,  sisHr  ef 

Bdnnah  More, 

IMmreh  6, 1792.] 

I  Iv  Tain  to  live  frooi  tge  to:  nge 

IVhile  modem  boidsondeaTOVur, 
I  write  ny  naiiM  in  Fatty's  page, 
And  gain  my  point  for  wist, 

W.  COWPER 


EPITAPH 


^free  hiittame  Redhremst,  a  favourite  of 
Miss  Sally  Hurdis. 

lMare%,  1792.] 

Thbsx  are  not  dew-drops,  these  are  tears, 

And  tears  by  Sally  shed 
For  absent  Robin,  who  she  fears. 

With  too  much  cause,  is  dead. 

One  mom  he  eame  not  to  her  hand 

As  he  was  wont  to  come, 
And  on  her  linger  perch'd,  to  stand 

Picking  his  breakfast  crumb. 


22i  90NNBX. 

Alarm'd,  she  call'd  hini)  and  porplexM 

She  soaght  him  but  in  yain, 
That  day  he  came  not,  nor 'the  next, 

Nor  ever  came  again.      • 

Shidf  therefore,  nused  him  here  a  tomb, 
Though  where  he  fell,  or  how. 

None  knows,  so  secret  was  his  doom. 
Nor  where  he  mofulders  now. 


Had  half  a  score  of  caxconid  died    -  - 

In  social  Robin*s  stead. 
Poor  Sally*s  tears  faaU'ddeB^been  dried, 

Or  haply  never  died. 

But  Bob  was  neither  rudely  bold, 

Nor  spiritlessly  tame  ; 
Nor  was,  like  theirs,  his  bosom  cold, 

But  always  in  a  flame. 


SONNET 

TO 

WILLIAM  WILBHRFORCE,  ESa 

[jSfpra  16, 1792J      - 

Tht  country,  Wilberforce,  with  just  disdain. 
Hears  thee  by  cruel  men  and  impious  called 
Fanatick,  for  thy  2eal  to  loose  the  enihraird 

From  exile,  publick  sale,  and  slavery's  chain. 
Friend  of  the  poor,  the  wrong'd,  tho  fetter  gall'd, 

Fear  not  lest  labour  such  as  thine  be  vain.  *  • 


J 


KPIGRAM.  225 

Thou  hast  achioT'd  a  part ;  hast  gainM  the  ear 

Of  Britain's  senate  to  thy  glorious  cause  ; 

Hope  smiles,  joy  springs,  and  tho'  cold  caution  pause 
^nd  weave  delay,  the  better  hour  is  near 
That  shall  remunerate  thy  toils  severe 

By  peace  for  Afric,  fenc'd  with  British  laws. 

Enjoy  what  thou  hast  won,  esteem  and  love 
From  all  the  just  on  earth,  and  all  the  blest  above. 


EPIGRAM. 


{^FrinUd  im  ^Northampton  Mircury.) 

To  purify  their  wine  some  people  bleed 
A  lamb  mto  the  barrel,  and  succeed ; 
No  nostrum,  planters  say,  is  half  so  good 
To  make  fine  sugar,  as  a  negroes  blood. 
Now  lanUts  and  negroes  both  are  harmless  things. 
And  Iheaie  perhi^  this  wondrous  virtue  fringe, 
"Tb  in  tho  blood  of  Inaoceiioe  alone-^ 
Good  cause  why  planteia  never  uy  their  own 


=1< 

TO 

DR.  AUSTIN, 

OF  CXCIL-STRXET,  I.OHDOV* 

Auinir !  accept  a  gnA&Hal  rtrse  from  me. 
The  poet*8  treasure,  no  ingloriouB  fee  1 
LoT*d  by  the  Mases,  thy  ingenuous  mind 
Pleasing  requital  in  my  verse  may  find ; 
Verse  oft  has  dash'd  the  scythe  of  tiine  aside,         ' 
Immortalizing  names  which  else  had  died ; 
And  O !  could  I  command  the  glittering  wealth 
With  which  sick  kings  are  glad  to  purchase  health ; 
Yet,  if  extexisiyQ  fame,  an(|  aure  to  Uve, 
Were  in  the  power  of  vefselike  nune  to  give,     ^    . 
I  would  not  recompenso  his  art  wiih.lass»  .,   .    . 
Who,  giying  Mary  health,  heals  my  4i8tres8. 

Friend  ^  my  friend  !*  I  loye  thee,  tho'  uakvmUf 
And  boldly  call  thea^iioifl^iijs,  my  own.  . 

•  Hayley. 


<«7) 


SONNET, 


ADDBES8ED  TO 


WILLIAM  HAYLEY,  ESa 


IJirn^  2, 1792.] 


Hatlxt— thy  tenderaesfl  fraternal  shown/ 
In  our  first  interview,  delightfol  guest ! 
To  Mary  and  me  for  lier  dear  sake  disiress^d, 

Sach  as  it  is  has  made  my  heart  thy  own, 

Though  heedless  now  of^new  engagements  grown , 
For  threescore  winters  make  a  wintry  breast, 
And  I  had  purpos'd  ne'er  to  go  in  quest 

Of  Friendship  more,  except  with  God  alone. 
But  thou  hast  won  me ;  nor  is  God  my  foe,  * 

Who,  ere  this  last  afflictive  scene  began,       '""'' 
Sent  thee  to  mitigate  the  dreadful  blow. 
My  brother,  by  whose  sympathy  I  know 

Thy  true  deserts  iiitOH&ly  to  scan, 

Not  more  t*  admire  the  bard  than  love  the  man. 


(MB) 


CATHA&INA; 

THE  SECOHD  PAET. 

yOmker  MmrrUgt  to  George  CaurUm^f,  £ff . 

Bkuxtb  it  or  ncvt,  is  yon  chooflb. 

The  doctrine  i«  certainly  tnie,  • 
That  the  future  is  known  to  the  mose. 

And  poets  are  era«Ioe  too. 
I  did  but  express  «  desire. 

To  see  Ga^arina  tX  hoiae^ 
At  the  side  of  my  iriend  Creorge's  Ere, 

And  lo— she  is  actual^  eomo. 

Such  prophecy  seme  may  desf^w, 

But  the  wish  <if  a  poet  and  friend 
Perhaps  is  approv'd  in  the  Hides, 

And  ttiorefore  -attains  to  its  end. 
Twas  a  wish  that  flew  ardently  forth 

From  a  bosom  eflectual^  warm'd 
With  the  talents,  the  ^nicca^  and  worth 

Of  the  person  for  whom  it  was  ^rm*cl 

Maria*  woald  leave  us,  I  know, 

To  the  grief  and  regret  of  us  oH, 
But  less  to  our  grief  could  we  Tiew 

Catharina  the  Queen  of  the  Hall. 
And  therefore  I  wish'd  as  I  did, 

And  therefore  this  union  of  hands 
Not  a  whisper  was  heard  to  forbid, 

But  all  cry — ^Amen — ^to  the  banns 

•  Lady  Throckmorton, 


AN  Ei^lTAPH.  829 

l^ee  therefore  I  seem  to  incur 

No  danger  of  wishing  in  vain, 
When  making  good  wiabes  for  Her,  ^  - 

I  will  e'en  to  my  wishes  again — 
With  one  I  have  made  her  a  Wife, 

And  now  I  will  try  with  another, 
Which  I  cannot  suppress  fctr  ray  life — 

How  soon  I  can  make  her  a  Mother 


AN  EPITAPH. 

^7830 

Here  lies  one  who  never  drew 
Blood  himself,  yet  many  slew ; 
Gave  the  gun  its  tarn,  and  figure 
Made  in  ^Id,  yet  ne*er  puU'd  trigger. 
Armed  men  have  gladly  made 
Him  their  guide,  andhim  obey'd 
At  his  signified  desire, 
Would  advance,  present,  and  Fire««» 
Stout  he  was,  and  large  of  limb, 
Scores  have  fled  at  sight  of  him ; 
And  to  all  this  fame  he  rose 
Only  following  his  Nose. 
Neptune  was  he  call'd,  not  He 
Who  controls  the  boist'rous  sea, 
But  of  happier  command,  . 
Neptune  of  the  furrow'd  land  ; 
And  your  wonder  vain  to  shorten. 
Pointer  to  Sir  John  Throckmorton, 

Vol.  ni.      .  20 


1 


(230) 


EPITAPH  ONL  POP, 

▲  DOO  BXL0H6IHG  TO  LADY  THKOCKMOBTOIT. 
iJhigv^,  1792.} 

Thoooh  once  a  pappy,  and  though  Fop  by  name, 
Heie  mouldera  One  whose  bones  some  honour  claim. 
No  sycophant,  although  jf  spaniel  rM|. 
And  though  no  hound,  a  martyr  to  tVchase-* 
Te  squirrels,  rabbits,  leverets,  rejoice, 
Tour  haunts  no  longer  echo  to  Ids  voice  ; 
Thitf  record  of  his  fate  exulting  view, 
He  died  worn  out  with  vain  pursuit  of  yon. 

"  Yes — "  the  indignant  vhade  of  Fop  replies— 
**  And  worn  with  rain  pursuit,  Man  also  dies." 


SONNET 


GEOROE  ROMNEY,  ESa 


His  picture  of  me  in  Crayons ^  drawn  at  Eartham  tn 
Ike  6lst,year  of  my  age^  and  in  the  months  of 

August  and  Septemhtr\  179^.  * 

[Octoher,  1792.] 

RoMHST,  expert  infallibly  to  trace 

On  chart  or  canvass,  not  the  form  alone  . 
And  semblance,  but,  however  faintly  shown. 

The  mind's  impression  too  on  every  &cs — 


ON  RECEIVING  HAYLEY'S  PICTURE.  231 
With  strokef  that  tune  ought  never  to  erase 

Thou  hast  so  pencilled  mine,  that  though  I  own 
The  subject  worthless,  I  have  never  known 
The  artist  shining  with  superiour  grace. 

But  this  I  mark — ^that  symptoms  none  of  wo 

In  thy  incomparable  work  appear. 
Well — ^I  am  satisfied  it  should  be  so, 
•    Since,  on  mattirer  thought,  the  cause  2s  denr : 

For  in  my  looks  what  sorrow  couldst  thou  see 
When  I  was  Hayley*i  guest,  and  sat  to  Thee  ? 


Oir 
RECEIVING  HAYLEY'S  PICTURE, 

IJmtuary,  1793.]  . 

Iir  language  ^nfiim  as  eould  be  breath*d  or  penn'd, 
Thy  picture  is^^eaks  tb'  Original,  ogr  Friend, 
Not  by  those  looks  that  indicate  thy  mind— 
They  only  speak  thee  Friend  of  all  mankind ; 
Expression  here  mcnro  soothing  still  I  see. 
That  Friend  of  all  a  partial  Friend  to  me 


EPITAPH 

oir 

MR.  CHESTER,  OF  CfflCHELEt. 

IJprU  1793.] 

TxARS  flow,  and  cease  not^  where  the  good  man  liai^ 
Till  all  who  knew  him  follow  to  the  skies. 
Tears  therefore  fall  where  Chester'*s  ashes  sleep ; 
Him  wife,  friends,  brothers,  cluldren,  sennnts,  weep, 
And  justly— ft  w  shall  ever  him  transcend 
As  husband,  parent,  brolhtt,  master,  friend. 


A  PLANT  OF  VIRGIN'S  BOWER 

Thbitx,  gentle  pla«l  I  aad  n^ve  a  bow^ 

For  Mary  K»d  lor  me, 
And  deck  with  many  a  splendid  flow*r 
•  Thy  fdiage  large  and  free. 

Thou  cam'st  from  Eartham^  and  wflt  shade 

(If  truly  I  divine) 
Some  future  day  th'  illustrious  head 

Of  Him  who  made  thee  mine. 


3CS= 


TO  ANNE  BODHAM.  233 

Should  Daphne  Bhow  a  jealous  frowiiy 

And  envy  seize  the  Bay, 
Affirming  none  so  fit  to  crown 

Such  honour'd  brows  as  they. 

Thy  cause  with  zeal  we  shall  defend. 

And  with  convincing  pow'r ; 
For  why  should  not  the  Virgin's  Friend 
'    J3e  crown'd  with  Virgin's  bow*r  ? 


TO  MT  covsm, 
ANWE  BODHAM, 

ON 

tUewrimg  from  kw  a  JfUwork  FitrHt  imuU  &y  k$rmyL 

[JJfoy  4, 1793.] 

Mr  gentle  Anne,  whom  heretofore)' 
When  I  waif  young,  and  thou  no  more  - 

Than  plajrthing  for  a  nurse, 
'         I  danc*d  anid  fondled  on  my  knee, 
A  kitten  both  In  size  and  glee, 

I  thank  thee  for  my  purse. 

CkJd  pays  the  wortii  of  aH  tilings  hete  :• 
But  not  of  love  ; — that  gein's  too  ddar  ' 

Fof'tichest  rogues  to  win  it  j 

I,  therefore,  as  a  proof  of  love, 
Esteem  thy  present  fkr  aboye 

The  best  things  kept  within  it 
20^ 


INSCRIPTION 

Fmr  mm  Bermitage  {it  the  jiuthor'*  Gmrdtat. 

lMmf,1799.J 

This  ctMHi  nuyi  in  iny  si|pit  s,pp6ttiy 
Boilty  M  it  has  been,  in  onr  waoipf;  yeanii 
A  rest  afforded  to  our  weaiy  feet^ 
Preliminary  to— C&a  last  retreat. 


1 


TO  MRS.  UNWIN- 

^MMr^  Twkoi  i^lyrp  with  e^hvr  atringi, 

Such  aid  from  *  heay^  as  some  haye  feign'd  they 
drew, 

An  eloquence  scarce  giT*n  to  mortals,  new 
And  imdd>as'4  by  praise  of  meaner  tliiiigs, 
That  ere  through  i^  or  wo  I  jihed  my  wmg'y 

I  may  record  thy  worth  with  hoobor  due,^ 

In  teife  as  mui^csl  as  thou  art  truoy 
And  that  immortalizes  whom  it  nnga. 

Bat  thou  hast  little  need.  There  is  a  book 
By  seraphs  writ  inth  beams  of  heaT'ijily  lights 

On  which  the  eyes  of  God  not  rarely  IoqI^ 
A  ehroaicle  of  actions  just  and  b«ghlk» 

There  aU  thy  deeds,  my  faithful  Maxy^  shine. 

And,  sinoe  thou  own*st  that  praise,  1  i^are  thee  mme. 


to 

JOHN  JOHNSON, 

on 

^gpresenthtg  mte  toith  an  onHqug  Imsi  ef  H&wut 

IMay,  1793.] 

KnrtMAN  beloT*<l  and  as  a  scoi,  by  me  1 
When  I  behold  this  fruit  of  diy  regrard, 
The  eculptuT'd  fona  of  my  old  fay'rite  bi^rdy 

I  rev^ence  feel  for  him,  and  lore  for  thee, 

Joy  too  and  giiet*   Much  joy  that  there  diould  be 
Wise  men  and  leam'd,  who  grudge  not  to  reward 
Wlta  some  ^pUuse  my  bold  attempt  an4  bvcli 

Whi«!h  others  scorn :  Criticks  by  courtesy. 

The  grief  is  this,  that  sunk  in  Homer's  mine 
I  loose  my  precious  years  now  soon  to  fail, 

Handling  his  gold,  which',  howsoe'er  it  shine, 
Proves  dross,  when  balanced  in  the  Christian  scaki 

Be  wiser  thou— like  otir  foreftthe^  Domrs, 

Seek  heav'^y  wealth,  and  work  for  God  alone. 


(286) 


A  YOUNG  FRIEISD, 


£fit  arriving  at  Cambridge  vott,  wktn  ne  ram  had 
fallen  tJurt. 

tJtfay,  1703.] 

If  Gideon*8  fleece^  which  drenched  with  dew  h« 
found. 
While  n^oistore  none  refreBhM  the  herbs  around, 
Bfight  fitly  represent  the  Church  endow'd 
With  heav'nly  gifts,  to  heathens  not  allowed ; 
In  pledge,  perhaps,  of  favours  from  on  high. 
Thy  locks  were  wet  when  othei's  locks  were  dry. 
Heay*ii  grant  us  half  the  omen-Hnay  we  see 
Not  drought  on  others,  but  i^uch  dew  on  Aee  ! 


A  TALE. 


[JttiM,  1793.] 


Ijr  Scotland's  realm  where  trees  aie  few. 

Nor  even  shrubs  abound ; 
But  where,  however  bleak  the  view, 

Some  better  things  are  £rand. 


A  TALE.  237 

For  husband  there  and  wife  may  boatt 

Their  union  nndefil^d. 
And  false  ones  are  as  rare  almost 

As  hedf  &>rowt  in  the  wild. 

In  Scotland'^  reafan,  forlorn  and  hnrei 

The  hiet'ry  ciiane*d  of  lal^^ 
This  hisfry  of  a  wedded  paiTi 

A  chaffinoh  aikl  hiii  mate. 

The  spring  drew  near,  eachibit  a  toast 

With  genial  instinct  ^*d  ^ 
They  pair'd  and  would  h«re  hwk  a  Hefty 

But  found  not  where  to  bnild. 

The  heath  imcover'4,  imd  tiie  moors. 

Except  with  snow  and  deet, 
8ea-beaten  rocks,  and  naked  shores 

Could  yield  them  no  retreat. 

Long  time  a  breedhig-|ddce  tis^  wmgM, 

Till  both  grew  Tex*d  and  tk*d ; 
At  length  a.  ship  arriving,  brought 

The  good  so  long  desir'd.   ^ 

A  ship  !  could  Biich  a  rertlesB  thing 

Afford  them  plaea  of  rest  i 
Or  wt^i  the  merehahtclnrg'i^lo  hrimg 

Ths  hometoss  bfsds  a  nert  ? 


Hush— eilevt  hearers  profit  i 

This  raper  of  the  eaa 
Frov'd  kinder  to  them  than  ti|e  eoMt, 

It  served  them  with  a  Tkee* 

But  such  Klseai.  ^tiMui  sbarei  deal^ 

The  tree  they  call  a  Mast, 
And  had  a  hoHow  witli  i  wheel 

Throu^  wlueh  the  ta<dia  passed . 


A  TALE.     • 
Within  that  ctkvltj  aloa,  i 

Their  rooflees  home  they  fix'd, 
Formed  with  materials  neat  and  soft,  \ 

Bents,  wool,  and  leathers  siiz*d. 

Fovr  iyry  ei^ge  soon  pare  its  floor  > 
With  russet  specks  bedi^ht — 

The  vessel  weighs,  forsakes  the  shue        . 
And  lessens  to  the  sight. 

The  mother-bird  is  gone  to  sea 
As  she  had  chang'd  her  kind ; 

Bat  goes  the  male  f  Far  wiser,  he 
Is  doubtless  lo£t  behind  ? 

No—soon  as  fr<xn  ash<»e  he  saw 
The  winged  mansion  moye^ 

'  He  flew  lo  reach  it,  by  a  law 
Of  neyer-fiuUng  love. 

Then^rehing  at  his  consort's  side. 

Was  briskly  borne  along,  - 
The  billows  and  the4)la8t  defied, 

And  cheerM  her  with  a  song. 

The  seaman  with*  sincere  delight, . 

His  featherVi  shipmates  eyes. 
Scarce  list  eimlting  in  the  mgbt 

Than  when  ha  tows  a  priae. 

For  seameamnch  beUenre  in  ngAS» 

And  from  a  chaaoe  flo  new. 
Each  some  f^proaehing  good  diyinw, 

And  may  his  hopes  be  tzneu! 

Hail  honoar*d  land !  adesettwhere 

Not  even  birds  can  hide,   * 
Yet  parent  of  thifi  loving  pair 

Whom  nothing  could  divide. 


•     A  TALK.  «39 

And  ye  who,  rather  than  rengn 

Your  matrimonial  phm^ 
Were  not  afnid  to  plough  the  brine 

In  company  with'  Man. 

For  whbse  lean  coi6ntiy  much  flibdain     ' 

We  English  often  shOw, 
Tet  from  a  richer  nothing  gain 

Bat  wantonness  and  wo. 

Be  it  your  fortune,  year  by  year, 

The  same  resource  to  prove^ 
And  may  ye,  sometimes  landing  here/ 

Instruct  us'  how  to  love  ! 


TfttM  Tak  it  fmmded  on  cut  ar^le  of  tntelKgenee  which'  Mt 
Author  found  in  the  Buekinghamskire  Hsrald^fcr  Saturday, 
June  1, 1793,  t»  thifoUowing  vaords,  .  , 


Glasgow,  May  23. 
In  a  block,  or  pulley,  near  the  head  of  th»'  mait  of 
a  gubert,  ,ttow  lying  at  the  Broomiekw,  thine  is  a 
chaffinch's  nest  and  four  eggs.  The  nest  was  built 
while  the  vessel  lay  at  Greenock,  and  was  followed 
hither  by  both  birds.  Though  the  block  is  occasional- 
ly lowered  for  the  inspection  of  the  curious,  the  birds 
have  not  fOTsaken  the  nest.  The  cock,  however,  visits 
the  nest  but  seldom,  while  the  hen  never  leaves  it  but 
>rbon  shu  descends  to  the  hull  for  food. 


WILLIAM  HikTLBT,  SOa.. 

Djear  urchiteet  of  fiat  cB^^niAvz  is  tar^ 
Worthier  to  itiutid  for  over,  i^  tliey  could^ 
Thananyb^of  f(eiio,or  jeto£wood|.     * 

For  back  of  royal  elepbant  tp  be«r  1   j 

O  fiMT  permiasion  from  the  skies  to  Aaie, 
Much  to  my  own,  though  little  to  thy  good. 
With  thee  (not  subject  to  file  jealous  mood  i) 

A  partnership  <^  literary  ware ! 

B«t  I  am  baidETupt  now ;  and  doom'd  henc^orti» 
,  To  df«dge,  in  descant  dry,  on  other's  lays ; 
Bards,  I  acknowledge,  of  qneqnail'd  worth !    . 
Bat  what  is  commentator's  happiest  praise  ' 

Thai  he  hai  iVimlsh'd  U^ts  fctr  other  eyefr^ 
Which  they,  who  need  them,  nee,  and  then-  dequia 


(241) 

Olf 

A  SPANIEL,  CAlXfib  BEAU. 

XILLIHO  A  TOUHO  BISD. 

[ JWy  15, 17&8.] 

A  Spahtbl,  Beau,  that  fares  like  yooi 

Well  fed,  and  at  his  ease, 
Should  wiser  be  than  to  pursue 

Each  trifle  that  he  sees. 

But  jou  have  kill*d  a  tiny  bird, 
,Wh]ch  flew  not  till  to-day, 
i  Against  my  orders,  whom  you  heard 
Forbidding  you  the  prey. 

Nor  did  you  kill  that  you  might  eat. 

And  ease  a  doggish  pain, 
For  him,  though  chas'd  widi  furioos  heat, 

Tou  left  where  he  was  slain. 

Nor  was  he  of  the  thievirii  sort, 
Or  one  whom  blood  allures. 

But  innocent  was  all  his  sport 
Whom  you  have  torn  fit  yours 

My  dog !  what  remedy  remains, 

Since,  teach  you  all  Jl  can, 
I  s4e  you^afler  all  my  painSf 

So  much  resemble  M«n  f 
VoIh  m.  21 


(843) 


BEAU'S  REPLY. 

Si«,  when  I  flow  to  seiw  the  bird 

In  spite  of  yonr  command, 
A  louder  voice  than  youre  I  heard, 

And  harder  to  withstand. 

You  cried— forbewf-but  in  my  breast 
A  mightier  cried— proceed— 

Twas  Nature,  Sir,  whose  strong  behest 
ImpeU*d  me  to  the  deed. 

Tet  much  as  nature  I  respfect, 

I  ventur'd  once  to  break, 
(As  you,  perhaps,  may  recollect) 

Her  precept  for  your  sake ; 

And  when  youi^lum^t  on  a  day, 

Pasnng  his  prison  door, 
Had  fluttered  aU  his  strength  away, 

And  panting  press*d  the  floor, 

Well  knowing  him  a  sacred  thing, 

Not  destm'd  to  my  tooOi, 
I  only  kiss'd  his  ruffled  wing, 

And  licked  tiae  fealhert  smooth. 

Let  my  obedience*  tfccn  excuse 

My  disobedience  mw. 
Nor  some  reproof  yourself  refuse 

From  your  aggriev'd  Bow-wow; 

If  killing  birds  be  such  a  crime^ 
(Whicn  f  canjiardly  see,) 

What  think  you,  Sir,  of  killing  Time 
With  verse  address'd  to  me  ? 


(243) 


ANSWER 

TO 

Stanxas  addressed  to  Lady  Hesketk,  by  Miss  Catha' 

rine  Fanshato,  in  returning  a  Poem  of  Mr. 

Cowper* stent  to  her  on  condition  she  should 

neither  shoto  itf  nor  take  a  copy. 

p798.] 

To  be  remembered  thus  is  fame, 

And  in  the  first  degree  ; 
And  did  the/eto  like  her  the  same. 

The  press  might  sleep  for  me. 

So  Homer,  in  the  mem'ry  stor'd 

Of  manj  a  jGrrecian  belle, 
Was  once  presenr'd — a  richer  hoard. 

Bat  njBver  lodged  so  well. 


THE  SPANISH  ADMIRAL, 
COUNT  GRAVINA, 

*  OH  .  • 

Bis  translating  the  Author*s  Song  on  a  Host  into 
Italian  Verse. 

[1793.] 

Mt  rose,  Gravina,.  blooms  anew. 
And,  steep*d  not  now  in  rain, 
*But  in  Castalian  streams  by  You, 
Will  never  fade  again. 


(214) 

OH 

FLAXMAN'S  PENELOPE. 

ISeptemker,  179^] 

Tux  ■aitort  liiiii'd,  Vut  wkh  a  fiur  exeme. 
Whom  all  this  elegance  migfat  weQ  eeducr 
Nor  can  our  cenaure  on  the  husband  fall, 
•  *Who,  for  a  wife  so  loTelj,  slew  them  all. 


•IT 

RECEIVING  HEtNE'S  VIRGIL 

FROM   MB.  HATLXT. 

{October,  ir93.J 

I  SHOULD  have  deem'd  it  once  an  efTort  yain. 
To  sweeten  laore  sweet  Maro'a  matchless  straiiii 
But  from  that  errouftow  behold  me  free, 
Since  1  reoeiy*d  him  aii  a  (rift  from  Thee. 


>  •' 


(245; 


TO  MARY. 


[Avtumn  of  1793.] 

Thb  twentieth  jear  is  well  mgh  past 
Since  first  our  sky  was  overcast. 
Ah  would  that  this  might  be  the  last ! 

My  Mary » 

m 
Thy  spirits  have  a  fiiinter  flow, 
I  see  them  daily  weaker  grow — - 
'Twas  my  distress  that  brought  thee  low, 

My  Mary  * 

Thy  needles',  once  a  shining  store, 
For  my  sake  restless  heretofore, 
Now  rost  disus'd,  and  shine  no  more, 

My  Mary ' 

For  though  thou  gladly  wonldst  fnlfil 
The  same  kind  office  for  me  still, 
Thy  sight  now  seconds  not  thy  will, 

My  Mary! 

Bnt  well  thou  play'dst  the  honae^ife's  part. 
And  all  thy  threads,  with  magick  art. 
Have  wound  ^emselyes  about  this  heart. 

My  Mazy* 

Thy  indisfinct  expressions  soem 

Uke  language  utter'd  in  a  dream ; 

Tet  me  they  charm,  whatever  the  theme. 

My  Mary  • 
91* 


246  TO  MARY. 

Thj  silver  locks  once  auburn  bright| 
Are  still  more  lovely  in  m j  sight 
Than  golden  beams  of  orient  light, 


Mjr  Mary 


For  could  I  yiew  nor  them  nor  thee, 
What  sight  worth  seeing  could  I  see? 
The  sun  would  rise  in  vain  for  me, 


My  Mary 


Partakers  of  thy  sad  decline, 
Thy  hands  their  little  force  resign ; 
Yet  gently  prest,  press  gently  mine, 


My  Mary ! 


Such  feebleness  of  limbs  thou  proT*st, 
That  now  at  every  step  thou  mov/st. 
Upheld  by  two,  yet  still  thou  lov'st, 

My  Mary! 

And  still  to  love,  though  prest  with  ill. 
In  wintry  ago  to  feel  no  chill, 
With  me  is  to  be  lovely  still, 

MyMaiy* 

But  ah !  by  constant  heod  I  know, 
How  oft  the  sadness  that  I  show. 
Transforms  thy  smiles  to  IoqIu  of  wo, 

My  Mary  1 

An4  shotild  mj  future  lot  t>e  cast 
With  much  resemblance  of  the  paM, 
Thy  worn-out  Iraait  will  bfeak  at  kst,     * 

MyMa^t 


(247) 


MONTES  GLACIALES, 

IN   OCEANO   OERMANICO   NATANTEB^ 

IMareh  11,  1799.] 

EVf  que  prodigia  eat  oris  aData  remotis, 
Oras  adTeniutit  pitdfkcta  p^t  «qubira  tmaims 
Non  equidmn  ptiacsto  eedth&A  rediias6  vldcitur 
Pyrrhffi,  cum  FrotdUB  p6cns  iiltos  irisere  montes 
*Et  sylvas,  egit.    Sdd  idmpotti  fix  leviora  "     "    ' 
Adsunt,  evul^  quaado  r&didtil8  alti  " 
In  mare  deficendunt  montes,  fluctusque  pererfant'    * 
Quid  Tero  hoc  mons^  est  magis  et  mkubile  visa ! 
Spiendentes  video,  eeu  ptdchro  ex  cere  vel  auro       "  ' 
Conflatos,  rutilisque  accixictoa  undique'  getnmis^  ' 
Bacca  csrulea,  et  fkmmas  imltante  pjrtopo, '  "'"' 
£x  oriente  adsunt,  ubi  gazas  optima  telluS  ' 
Farturitomnigenas,  quibtUi  i^va  per  bnUkia  smnptu 
Ingenti  finxere  sibi  diademata  Wges  ? 
Vix  hoc  crediderim.    Non  fkUtmt  talia  aentos 
Mercatorum  ocnlos:  pHos  et  (^am  llttdra  GtCilgig 
Liquissent,  avidis  gratissima  prseda  fuissent. 
Ortofl  unde  putemus  ?  An  illos  Vesuvius  atrox 
Protulit,  ignivomisve  ejecit  faucibus  ^tna  ? 
Luce  micant  propria,  Phocbive,  per  sera  panim 
Nunc  stimulantis  equos.  argentea  tela  retorquent  ? 
Phcebi  luce  micant.    Ventis  et  fluetibus  altis 
Apj[>uLEd,  et  rapidis  subter  currentibus  undis. 
Tandem  non  fallunt  oculos.    Capita  alta  videre  oit 
Multa  onerata  nive,  et  canb'consporsa*pruinis 
CfBtera  sunt  ghicies.    Frocul  hinc,  ubi  Bruma  fere 
omnes 


248  MONT£S  GLACIALES. 

Contristat  menses,  portenta  htec  hoxrida  nobis 
nia  stmi  Yokxlt.    Quoties  de  calmine  sammo 
CliTomm  fluecent  in  littora.  prona,  solute 
Sole,  niyeSy  propero  tendentcs  in  mare  cursu, 
nia  gela  ftioL    Paolatim  attoliere  sese 
Mirmn  cospit  opus ;  glacteque  ab  or^ne  rerum 
In  glaciem  aggesta  sublimes  vertice  tandem 
JEquayit  montes,  non  creecere  nescia  moles. 
Sic  immensa  din  stetit,  tBtemumque  stetisset 
Congeries^  hominum  neque  yi  neque  mobilis  artOi 
Uttora  ni  tandem  decliyia  deseruiaset, 
Pondere  victa  sue.    Dilabitur.    Omziia  circum 
Antra  et  taza  gemunt,  subito  concussa  fragoie, 
Dum  ruit  in  pelagos  tanquam  studiosa  natuidi, 
Ingens  tota  strues.    Sio  Deloa  dioitur  oHm, 
Insula,  in  iCgieo  fluitasse  erradea  ponto.    ^ 
Sed  non  ex  gkwue  Delos ;  neque  toFpida  Delum 
Bruma  inter  rapes  genuit  nudam  sterilemque. 
Sed  Testita  herbis  erat  ilia,  omataque  nunquam 
Decidua  htoro ;  et  Delum  dUexit  Apollo. 
•At  Tos,  errones  horrendi,  et  caligino  digm 
Cimmeria,  Deus  idem  odit.    Natalia  vestra, 
Nulnbus  uiTolvaM  frontem,  non  ille  tueri    • 
Sustinuit    Patrium  tos  eriro  roquirite  ccdum ! 
Ite !  Redite !  Timete  moras ;  m  leniter  anstro 
Spirant*,  et  nitidas  Phoobo  jacnlaate  sagittas 
Hostili  Yobis,  pere«ii9  gurgite  misu' 


(^9  ) 


ON  THE  ICE  ISLANDS, 


SEEN   FLOATING  IN  THE   GERMAN   OCEAN. 


{March  19, 1799.]  • 


What  portents,  from  wliat  distant  region,  nde, 
Unseen  till  ^ow  in  ours,  th*  astoniah'd  tide 
In  ages  past,  old  froteus,  with  his  droves 
Of  sea-calves,  sought  the  mountains  and  the  groves. 
But  now,  descending  whfqice  of  late  they  stood, 
Themselves  the  mountains  seem  to  rove  the  flood, 
Dire  times  were  they,  full  charg'd  with  human  woei ; 
And  these,  scarce  less  calamitous  than  thos6. 
What  view  we  now  ?  More  wondrous  still  i  Behold ! 
liike  burnish'd  brass  they  shine,  or  beaten  gold ; 
And  all  around  the  pearPs  pure  splendour  show. 
And  all  around  tne  ruby's  fiery  glow. 
Come  they  frQm  iQdJui,  where  the  bulging  Earth, 
All  bounteous,  gives  her  richest  treasures  birth  > 
.And  where  the  cosUy  g^ms,  that  beam  around 
The  brows  of  mightiest  potentates,  aro  found  f 
No.    Never  such  a  countless  dazzling  store 
Had  left,  unseen,  the  Ganges*  peopled  shore 
Rapacious  hands,  and  ever-watchful  eyes. 
Should  sooner  far  have  marked  and  seized  the  prizo. 
Whence  sprang  they  then  ?  Ejected  have  they  come 
From  Ves'vius',  or  from  ig^tna's  burning  womb  ? 
Thus  shine  they  self-illum'd,  or  but  display' 
The  borrowed  splendours  of  a  cloudless  day  ? 
With  borrow'd  beams  they  shine.    The  gales,  that 

breathe 
Now  landward,  and  the  current*s  force  beneath, 


2S0  THE  ICE  ISLANDS. 

Hare  borne  them  nisarer  ;  and  the  nearer  sight, 

Advantag'd  more,  contemplates  them  aright. 

Their  lofty  summits  crested  high,  they  show. 

With  mingled  sleet,  and  long-encmnbent  snow. 

The  rest  is  ice.    Far  hence,  where,  most  severei 

Bleak  winter  well-nigh  saddens  all  the  year, 

Their  infant  growth  began.    He  bade  arise 

Their  uncouth  forms,  portentous  in  our  eyes. 

Oil  as  dis8oly*d  by  transient  suns,  the  snow 

Left  the  tall  cliff  to  join  the. flood  below  > 

He  caught,  and  cofdled  with  a  freenng  blast 

The  current,  ere  it  reach'd  the  boimdlesa  waste. 

By  slow  degrees  uprose  the  wondrous  pile, 

And  long  succeanve  ages  r<^'d  the  <^hUe  *, 

Till,  ceaseless  in  its  growth,  it  claimed  to  stand, 

Tall  as  its  riral  mouatains  on  the  land. 

Thus  stood,  and,  unremovable  h^  dull, 

Or  force  of  man,  had  stood  the  strueture  stiU ; 

But  that,  tho'  firmly  fix'd,  supplanted  yet 

By  pressure  of  its  own  enormous  weight, 

It  left  the  shelfing  beach-^ax^,  w\tb  a  Bomd 

That  shodt  the  bellowing  waives  and  rocks  arolmd, 

Self-launch'd,  and  swiftly,  to  the  briny  wave, 

As  if  instinct  with  strong  denre  to  lave, 

Down  went  the  pondVous  mass.    So  bards  of  oA, 

How  Delos  swam  th'  JEgean  deep,  have  told. 

But  not  of  ioe  was  Delos.    Deloa  bore 

Herb,  fruit,  and  ftow'r .  She,  crownM  with  laxifel,  wofSi 

Ev'n  under  wintry  skies^  a  summer  snule ; 

And  Delos  was  Apollo's  &y*rtte  isle. 

But,  horrid  wand'rers  of  the  deep,  to  yoa 

He  deems  cimsnerian  darimess  only  due. 

Tour  hated  l»rth  he  deigned  not  to  survey, 

But,  scornful,  tum*d  his  glorious  eyes  away. 

Hmico  !  Seek  your  home,  nor  longer  rashly  daie 

The  darts  of  Phcebus,  and  a  softer  air ; 

Lest  ye  regret,  too  late,  your  native  coast. 

In  no  congenial  gulf  for  ever  lost » 


(35i  ) 

THE  CASTAWAY. 

[March,  20, 1799.] 

Obscurest  night  involved  the  sky  ; 

Th*  Atlantic  billows  roar'd, 
When  such  a  destin'd  wretch  as  I, 

Wash'd  headlong  from  on  board, 
Of  friends,  of  hope,  of  all  boroft, 
Hit  floating  home  for  ever  left. 

No  braver  chief  could  Albion  boast, 
Than  he,  with  whom  he  went. 

Nor  ever  ship  left  Albion's  coast. 
With  warmer  wishes  sent. 

He  lov*d  them  both,  but  both  in  vain^ 

Nor  him  beheld,  nor  her  again. 

Not  long  beneath  the  whelming  brin»| 

Expert  to  swim,  he  lay : 
Nor  soott  he  felt  his  strength  decline, 

'  Or  courage  die  away ;- 
.  But  wag'd  with  dcatli  a  lasting  strife, 
Supported  by  despair  of  life 

He  shouted ;  nor  his  friends  had  fail'd 
To  check  the  vessel's  course. 

But  so  the  furious  blast  prevail'd, 
That,  pitiless,  perforce, 

They  left  their  outcast  mate  behind, 

And  scudded  stiil  before  thqwind. 

Some  succour  yet  they  could  aiFord  ■ 

And,  such  as  storms  allow, 
The  cask,  the  coop,  the  floated  cord, 
.  Delayed  not  to  bestow 


Si^rt^yCeZi>^2A^.' 


252  THE  CASTAWAY. 

But  he  (tliej  knew)  nor  ship  nor  shore^ 
'Whatever  they  gave,  shoultjl  ^imt  more. 

Nor,  cruel  aa  it  seeui'd,  could  he 

Their  haste  himself  condema, 

Aware  that  flight,  in  such  a  sea, 

Alone  could  rescue  them ; 
Tet  bitter  felt  it  still  to  die 
Deserted,  and  his  fneiidi  so  nigh. 

He  long  surrivesy  who  liyes  an  hour 

In  ocean,  self-upheld : 
And  so  long  he,  with  unspent  pow*r 

His  destiny  repell'd : 
And  ever  as  the  mantes  flew, 
Entreated  help,  or  cried— ><HAdleu »" 

At  length,  his  transient  respite  paet| 

His  comrades,  who  before 
Had  heard  his  voice  in  ev^ry  blast, 

Could  catch  the  sound  no  more. 
For  then,  by  tcnl  subdued,  he  drank 
The  stifling  wave,  and  then  he  sank. 

No  poet  wept  him :  but  the  page 

Of  narrative  sincere. 
That  tells  Ins  name,  bis  worth,  his  age 

Is  wet  with  Anson^s  tear. 
And  tears  by  bards  ox  heroes  shed 
Alike  immortalize  the  dead. 

I  therefore  purpose  not,  or  dream, 

Descanting  on  his  fate, 
To  give  the  melancholy  theme 

A  more  enduring  date. 
Bat  misery  still  delights  to  trace 
Its  semblance  in  another's  case 


THRAX.     .  %;> 

No  voice  divine  the  storm  allay'd. 

No  light  propitious  shone ;  ^ 

When,  snatch'd  ^rom  all  effectual  aid^ 

"We  perished  each  alone : 
Bat  I  beneath  a  rougher  sea, 
And  whelm'd  in  deeper  gulfii  tkam  Jbe 


TRANSLATIONS 


VINCENT  BOURNE. 


TIIRAX. 

Thrbioivm  infantenii  Qum  lucem  intravit  et  aura% 

Fletibutf  ezcepit  msestus  uterque  parens. 
Threicium  infantem,  cum  luce  czivit  et  auris, 

Extulit  ad  funus  Itetus  uterque  parens, 
Interea  tu  Roma ;  et  tu  tibi  Grscia  plaudens, 

Dicitis,  hflBC  vera  est  Thraica  barbanes. 
Lstitie  causami  causamque  ezquirite  luctus ; 

Yoeqie  est  quod  doceat  Thraica  barbaries. 

Vol.  QL  ^  23 


(W> 


THE  THRACIAN. 


TaMketut  povnU,  «fc  hm  lurtb, 
Moam  their  babs  with  ntny  a  t«ary 

B«t  with  oBdiMemhled  mirth 
PkiM  him  braathlesi  on  hii  hier. 

Greece  end  Rone  with  equal  foom, 
«  O  the  eaYagee  I"  exclaim, 

M  Whether  they  rejaiee  or  naeotn, 
WeU  entitled  to  the  bum  I** 

But  the  eanee  of  this  eoneeniy 
And  thia  pleiaese  would  they  trace, 

Eyen  they  mi^  Kunewhat  learn 
From  the  eavagea  of  Thrace 


MUTU4  BENEVOLENTIA 

PBIMAIUUL  I.tX  HATVRJB  XST. 

PcR  L%yiB  Androcles  siccas  errabat  arenas ! 

Qui  rngna  iratum  fugerat  oxul  herum. 
LiaMato  tandem  fractoque  labore  vianun, 

Ad  sc<^nli  patuit  ceca  carema  latos 
Hanc  enbit ;  et  placido  dederat  viz  membra  sopori 

Cum  subito  immanis  rugit  ad  antra  leo ; 
Die  pedem  attollens  laeium,  et  miserabilo  murmur 

Edens,  qiia  poterat  voce,  precatur  opem. 


MUTUA  BENEVOLENTIA.  955 

Percnlsiifl  novitate  rei,  incertusque  timore, 

Vix  tandem  tremulas  admovet  erro  manui  > 
Et  fpinam  ezplorana  (nam  fixa  in  ynlnerQ  ap^ia 

Hsrebat)  canto  molliter  ungue  trahit : 
C^Unuo  dolor  omnia  abit,  teter  fluit  humor : 

Et  coit,  absteiflo  aanffuine,  mpta  cntis ; 
Nnno  iterum  aykaa  domosque  peragrat ;  et  affort 

ProTidm  aaiiduaa  hospes  ad  antra  dapes. 
Jnzti^  epnlia  aociunyi  hm»  eonviva  konia, 

Nee  cmdoe  dnlutat  participare  cibos. 
Quia  tamen  lata  ftrat  deMite  tadia  vk»  ?- 

Viz  furor  ultoria  triatier  em&i  hion. 
Devotum  certb  eapuft  objectaie  peiMia 

Et  patrioa  atatuit  nuraua  .sdna  larea* 
Traditur  hie,  fera  faotnnia  apectacnla,  plebi, 

Accipit  et  misenm  triftia  arsMk  fMUni 
Irmit  e  cavei&%g  idtm  impaatna  et  aoer, 

Et  medicom  attooKo  juspioit'ore  leo. ' 
Snapieit,  et  veteresi  i^^oaeena  Tetua  hoipea  amiemn 

Deenmbit  notoa  Uaadnloa  ante  pedea. 
Quid  yero  percnlsi  animia,  atupuere  QoiriteB  ? 

Ecquid  prodigH»  t«ffit»  Boma,  videa  ? 
yniua  aatnne  opua  eat ;  ton  awa  furorem 

Sumere  quo  juM|t,  posere  loia  jubot. 


(250) 


RElCIPRCKJAL  KINDNESS, 


TBI  PRIMAKT  LAW  09  ITiiXVIUI. 

Ahdroc;£«  frosi  hiriajw^lord  in^read 
Of  instant  death,  to  Libya's  desert  fled. 
Tir*d  with  his  toibomtt  fliffat,  aad  parph'd  with  heat. 
He  i^ied,  at  length,  a  oavem'ii  eool  retrent ; 
But  scarce  had  giy*n  to  rest  his  weary  frame, 
When  hugest  of  his  kiad,  a  Uon  eame : 
Ha  raar'd  apyMhiny  ;  btit/ ttie  wtfwgti  din 
To  pUintiye  mumMWi  ehanf 'd;  arrfi^  withhi, 
And  with  expressive  hxiks  his  lifted  paw 
Presenting,  aid  iniplor'd  from  whom  he  saw. 
The  fugitive,  throiigb  terroiir  at  a  stand, 
Dar'd  not  awhile  uSotA  his  Irembfing  hand. 
But  bolder  grown,  at  length  inherent  fonnd 
A  pointed  thorn,  and  drew  it  from  the  woond. 
The  cure  Was  wrought ;  he  wip'd  the  sanions  blood. 
And  firm  and  free  frt>m  pahi  the  lion  stood. 
Agam  he  seeks  the  wilds,  and  day  by  day, 
Regales  his  inmate  with  the  parted  prey, 
Nor  he  disdains  the  dole,  though  unprepared. 
Spread  on  the  ground,  and  with  a  Uon  shar'd. 
But  thus  to  lire— still  lost — sequestered  still- 
Scarce  seem'd  his  lord's  revenge  an  heavier  ill. 
Home  !  native  home  !  O  might  he  but  repair ! 
He  must — he  will,  though  death  attends  him  there. 
He  goes,  and  doom'd  to  perish  on  the  sands 
Of  the  frdl  Theatre  unpitied  stands ; 
When  lo !  the  self-same  lion  from  his  cage 
Flies  to  devour  him,  famish'd  into  rage. 
He  flies,  but  viewing  in  his  parpos'd  prey 
The  man.  his  healer,  paoRes  on  his  way. 


>i 


MAmrALE. 
And  toftea'd  by  remembrance  into  iweet 
And  kind  composore,  cvoneliei  at  hie  feet. 

Mote  with  astonishment  th'  astembly  gtie 
But  why,  ye  Romans  ?  Whence  your  mute 
All  this  b  natoral ;  nature  bade  him  rend 
An  enemy ;  die  bids  him  wptat  a  firiead. 


9S7 


MANUALE 


Typography  amni  mniiffutus,  nuUi  %^nam  Uhrorum 
inswtum  CaUdoga, 

EziovtTS  liber  est,  muliebri  creber  in  080, 

Per  se  qui  dici  bibliotheca  potest 
Copia  Terborum  non  est,  sed  copia  rerum  ; 

Copia  (quod  nemo  deneget)  utilior. 
Rnbris  consultur  pannis ,  fors  texitur  auro  ; 

Bis  seita  ad  summum  pagina  claudit  opus. 
Nil  habet  a  tergo  titulive  aut  nominis ;  intus 

Thesauros  artis  senrat,  et  intus  opes : 
Intns  opes,  qnas  nympha  sinu  pulcherrima  gfostet, 

Quas  nive  candidior  tractet  ametque  manus, 
Quando  instruroentum  prssens  sibi  postulat  usus, 

Majusve,  aut  operis  proTatione,  minus. 
Et  genere  et  modulo  diversa  habet  arma,  gradatioi 

Digesta,  ad  numeros  attenuata  suos. 
Primum  enchiridii  folium  majuscula  profert^ 

Qualia  que  blieso  est  lumine  poscat  anus. 
Quod  sequitur  folium,  matronis  arma  ministrat, 

Dicere  que  magnis  prozimiora  Ucet. 
Tortium,  item  quartum,  quintumque  m^nwK?uh  sup- 
plot 

Sed  non  cjasdem  singula  queque  loeL 
22* 


29i  A  MANUAL. 

Diipotitft  ordiiylMif  ceHifii  discriiDipa  servant ; 

Que  nbi  ^omwaiva^t  s^Ug^  unde  norua. 
Uhiiiia'qiuB  restant  qus  multa  minutula  njmpha 

Dicity  wnt  •ftzU  divit|9  fi>lii. 
QuaiijiHo  m  tpatio  dootrina  O  quanta  latescit ! 

Qoam  taqiaa  ohpcnryn  viz  brevitate  voces. 
NoQ  est  interprosy  nee  commentarius  ullus, 

Aut  index ;  tarn  sunt  omnia  perapicua. 
JEtatem  ad  qnamvis,  ad  captum  ita  fingitor  omnem 

Ut  nihil  auzilii  postulet^ide  liber. 
Blillia  librorum  numerat  perplnra ;  nee  ullom 

Bodlsi  hoic  jactat  bibUotheca  parem. 
BfiUia  CcBsaroo  numerat  qoofoe  munere  Granta^ 

Hec  tamen  est  inter  miQia  tale  mhil. 
Non  est,  non  istis  auctor  de  miUibus  unus, 

Cui  tanta  ingWi  vis,  vel  aenmen,  inest 


A*  MANUAL, 

Mart  muUnt  tkm  iluAH  tf  Printing^  mdnottob$ 
found  in  any  Catalogue, 

Thxbs  l«  a  book,  whicb  we  may  calf 

(Its  ezceUence  is  such) 
Alone  a  library  tbo*  small; 

The  ladies  thumb  it  much 

Words  none,  tfttiii^  iRte'nms  it  cmttaths  | 

And,  things  with  wonfe  compar'd, 
Who  needs  be  told,  that^feuis  his  brains, 

Which  merits  most  regard!  * 

Ofttimes  ite  leaves  of  seaflet  hue 
A  golden  edging^  boa«t ;(  , 

And  open'd,  it  displays  to  view 
Twelve  pages  at  the  most   . 


A  MANUAL. 
Nor  name,  nor  title,  Btamp*d  behln<l| 

Adorns  its  outer  part ; 
But  all  within  *tis  richly  lln*d, 

A  magazine  of  art. 

The  whitMt  hands  tiiat  secret  hoard 

Oft  visit:  todthe&hr 
Preserre  it  in  their  bosom  Btor*d 

As  with  a  mi8er*B  care. 

Thence  implements  of  DV^ry  tm. 

And  form'd  for  yarioiMi  nse, 
(They  need  bntto  eonsnit  thdr  ey«i> 

They  readily  produce. 

The  latest  and  the  longest  kind 

Possess  the  foremost  page, 
A  sort  most  needed  by  the  blind, 

Or  nearly  such  fiom  age. 

The  full-charg'd  leaf,  which  i^ext  ensues 

Presents,  in  bright  array, 
The  smaller  sort^  which  matrons  use. 

Not  quite  so  blind  as  they. 

The  third,  Uie  fourtly,  the  Mh  sofply 

What  their  occasions  ask^ 
Who  with  a  more  discerning  eye 

Perform  a  nicer  task*    • 

But  still  with  Tegular  decrease 

From  size  to  «ize  ttey  fall. 
In  ev'ry  leaf  grow  less  and  less ; 

Thtf  last  are  least  sf  all.  r  . 

O  !  what  a  fund  of^  genius,  pent 

In  narrow  space,  is  hero  ! 
This  volume's  method  and  intent 

How  luminous  and  cloar  ' 


8|c:- 


=std 


too  JENIOMA. 

It  iMTes  no  reftd«r  it  a  km 
Or  pos*d,  whoever  readi : 
Ho  eominenUUNr'B  tediouB  gloeffi 
Noff< 


8e«reh  Bodley'f  many  tfacwHinihi  o'er ! 

No  book  is  trea«iir*d  there, 
Nor  yet  in  Granta's  num'rocis  store 

That  may  with  this  eompare. 

No  I  Riral  n<me  in  either  host 

Of  this  was  ever  seen, 
Or,  thtt  MBtmli  could  JMtly  boast, 

So  briUiant  and  so  keen. 


iENIGMA. 

Paktvla  res,  et  aeu  minOr  est,  et  ineptior  usu  r 

Qnotque  dies  annus,  tot  tibi  drachma  dabit. 
Bed  licet  exigni  pretii  minimiqne  valoris, ' 

Ecce,  quot  aitificmo  postulat  ilia  manus. 
Unius  in  primis  cura  est  eonflare  metallum: 

In  longa  alterius  decete  fi\a  labor.  . 
Tertius  in  partes  resecat,  quartusque  rescctoro 

Ferpolit  ad  modolos  attenuatque  dates. 
Est  quinti  tomare  caput,  quod  seztus  adaptet; 

Septimus  in  punctom  cudit  et  ezacuit. 
His  tandem  auziliis  ita  res  procedlt,  ut  omnes 

Ad  numeros  ingons  perficiatur  opus. 
Que  tanti  ingenii,  quae  tanti  est  sunmia  laboris : 

Si  mihi  respondes  CEdipo,  tota  tua  eirt. 


J 


N 


(261 


AN  ENIGMA- 

A  KEEDLE  small,  as  small  can  be. 
In  bulk  and  use,  surpasses  me» 

Nor  b  my  purchase  dear  ! 
For  littlo  and  ahAost  for  nought 
As  many  of  m^  kind  are  bought. 

As  days  are  in  the  year. 

Tet  though  but  little  use  we  boast, 
And  are'  procur*d  at  little  cost, 

The  labour  is  not  light, 
Nor  fefw  artificers  it  asks, 
All  isjkilful  in  their  sev'ral  tasks, 

To  fashion  us  aright. 

One  fiises  metal  o*er  tlie  fire, 
A  second  dra^rs  it  into  wire, 

The  shears  another  plies, 
Who  clips  in  lengths  the  brazen  thread 
For  him,  who,  chafing  every  thread,  ^ 

Gives  all  an  equal  size. 

A  fifth  prepares,  exact  and  round. 

The  knob,  with  which  it  must  bo  crown'd  5 

His  follower  makes  it  fast : 
And  with  his  mallet  and  his  file 
To  shape  the  point,  eihploys  awhile 

The  seventh  and  the  last. 

Now  therefore,  GBdipus !  declare 
What  creature,  wonderfiil,  and  rare, 

'    A  process,  that  obtains 
Its  purpose  with  so  much  ado, 
.  A%  last  produces  !-^tell  me  true, 
And  take  'me  for  your  pains ' 


rrscs 


(26S) 


PASSERES  INDIGENCE 


COL.  TRUr.  CAST.  COMKENSALES. 

/ircoLA  qui  norit  sedes,  aut  viserit  basee 

Newtoai  eipregii  qiuui  edebravit  heiuMi ;     ' 
Viditque  et  meminit,  letus  fortawe  rideiido, 

Qaam  multA  ad  meneaM  udvoUUiit  avis. 
Die  nee  ignorat, nidos ut, yereinoiuite, 

Tecta  per  at  fiNrulos,  et  tabokta  fltraat 
Ut  coram  edoeal  teneroB  ad  pabala  iastxmt 

£t  pascal  Biieisi  quaf  det  arnica  maBOS. 
ConyiTEs  quotiM  campano  ad  prandia  paJaoM 

OoBToeat,  haud  epuHi  certior  hopes  adett. 
Continao  jucuiub.  iiinul  toz  fertur  ad  aures, 

Vicinos  ptsser  qmaquo  reUnquit  agros, 
Hospitinm  ad  notum  properatur  ;  et  orduM  stantoa 

Expectant  panis  fragmina  qutsque  sua. 
Hofl  tomon,  hos  omnes,  viz  uno  laxgior  asse 

SumptiD  per  totam  pascit  alitque  diem. 
Hone  unum,  hunc  mo<J^cum  (ncc  quisquam  inyidof  il 
assem) 

Indigense,  hoapitu  jure,  merontur  avea 


=»3 


(263) 
SPARROWS  SELF-DOMESTICATED 

or  TBIHlTr  COtLEOE,  CAMBBIBOI. 

NoKE  ever  shar'd  the  social  feast, 
Or  as  an  inmate,  or  a  gnest, 
Beneath  the  eelehraled  dome, 
Whete  once  6k  Isaac  had  his  homdj 
Who  saw  not  (and  with  some  delight 
Periiaps  he  view'd  the  novel  sight) 
How  num»rons,  at  the  tia>les  there, 
The  sparrow*  beg  tlieir  daily  fere 
For  there,  in  every  nook,  and  eeU, 
Where  snch  a  family  may  dwafl, 
8me  as  the  vernal  season  comes 
Their  nests  they  weave  in  h«^  of  crumbs. 
Which  kmdly  giv*n,  may  serve,  with  food 
Convement,  their  mnfeather'd  br^ed , 
And  oft  as  with  its  samxnoos  dear, 
The  warning  beU  salutes  tho  ear» 
Sagacioos  listeners  to  the  sound. 
They  flo<*  fi«m  aU  the  fieUs  aie«nd« 
To  reach  the  bospHaWe  hall, 
N<me  more  attentive  to  tho  call* 
Arriv*d,  the  pensionary  band, 
Hopping  and  chirping,  close  at  hand. 
Solicit  what  tiiey  soon  receive, 
The  sprinkled,  plenteous  donative. 
Thns  is  a  multitude,  though  large, 
Supported  at  a  trivial  charge ', 
A  Mngle  doit  would  overpay 
Th*  expenditure  of  every  day, 
And  who  can  grudge  so  small  a  grace 
To  sunuliants  natives' of  the  place  ? 


(8U4) 


NULU  TE  FACIAS  NIMIS  SODALEM 

Palpat  heram  felif,  gpromic  recmnbafts  In  anili ; 

Qoam  flenel  fttq«^  itenupi  LjrdU  pffJpat  licra. 
Ludoin  Uf  se^piHiir ;  nam  lotos  exserit  ongaes, 

£t  kmg^  laoenttv^ulai^tt  ^Uii  aimim     *' 
Coatinuo  ez&rJens  ^fMUo-ipiUevQiiUi  f«k«i  . 

Neo  gravibiia  mvllU  6Z9Ulit#bB4niQ  nuairr 
Quod  Ulna* Imid  f^qw^mnit*  >i yvH-cwolM j<N»url« 

FeIinamddMiLydial#i9i9JMam<  ' 


FAMIUABITY  DiAiiGNBROCfR 

As  m  her  9me^m  Misli«tg|*ts^  ' 

Bui  «lttf^«wiiM.    PiMB  wt^eto  wkrm, 
And  with  |M«(i«MI  olawtr 

Ploughs  an  iim^et^^  of  Ly^^'HiLm,   - 
Mem  miKMoiiiMi  tiui  eutt*^. 

At  once,  M0o«tM^^«  deed,    ^ 
Sbe  shakM  ker  to  4he  gfo«md 

With  tfnny  a  tl^reat,  that  she  iiMA  Meecj 
With  still  a  deeper  woudn}. 

But,  Lydia,  bid  thy  fury  rest, 

It  Was  a  vehiifl  str^e : 
For  she  that  will  with  kittens  jest, 

Should  bear  a  kitten's  joke. 


(265) 


AD  RUBECULAM  INVITATIO. 

IIosFES  avity  conviva  domo  gratissiina  caivis, 

Quara  bnuna  humtBam  qiiserere  cogit  opem 
Hue  O !  hyberni  fugias  nt  frigora  coeB, 

Confuge,  et  ine^oinra  sub  lare  vive  meo ! 
Unde  tuam  eflwriein  reeves,  alknenta  fenestra 

Apponam,  quoti#i  it^e  roclkque  Aes 
Uso,  etenim  edidlciy  quod  grato  alimenta  rependes 

Canto,  que  dederit  conqnct  benigna  manua. 
Vera  novo  tepid»  ipirant  omn  moUker  aur®, 

£t  novuf  in  quavis  arbore  temat  honofl. 
Pro  libitu  ad  lucos  redeas,  sylvakque  revisaa, 

Lasta  qoibua  resenat  Mua ica  parque  turn ! 
Sin  itenun,  sin  forte  iteruni,  inclementia  bnume 

Ad  mea  dilectam  tecta  redoost  avein, 
Esto,  redux,  grato  memor  esto  rdpendere  eantn 

Fabula,  que  dederit  conque  benigna  majHif  * 
Vis  bine  harmonie,  numerocum  hinc  saom  pofestM 

Conspicitur,  nnsquam  conspioieBda  magisi 
Vincula  quod  stabilis  firmissima  nectit  amoris, 

Vincula  yiz  longa  dissaooinda  die. 
Captat)  eVincantat  blando  oblectamine  Musa 

Humanum  pariter  pennigerumque  genus ; 
Hos  bominos  et  aves  qootcUnque  aniraantia  yivnnt 

Nos  soli  harmonie  gens  Btndiosa  sumus 
Vol.  in.  83 


INVITATION  TO  THE  REDBREAST. 


SwKKT  bird,  whom  the  winter  constnon^- 

And  seldom  another  it  can- 
To  seek  a  retreat,  while  he  reigns, 

In  the  weli-8helter*d  dwellings  of  ma% 
Who  never  can  seem  to  intrude, 

Tho'  in  all  places  equal]/  free, 
Come,  oft  as  the  seascm  is  nide, 

Thou  art  sure  to  be  welcome  to  me; 


At  sight  of  the  first  feeble  ray, 

That  pierces  the  clouds  of  the  east, 
To  inveigle  thee  everj  day 

My  windows  shall  show  thee  a  feast. 
For,  taught  by  experience,  1  know 

Thee  mindful  of  benefit  long ; 
And  that  thankful  for  all  1  bestow, 

Thou  wilt  pay  me  with  many  a  song. 

Then,  soon  as  the  swell  of  the  buds 

Bespeaks  the  renewal  of  spring,  . 
Fly  hence,  if  thou  wilt,  to  the  woodSi 

Or  where  it  shall  please  thoe  to  sing : 
And  shouldst  thou,  compoU'd  by  a  frost, 

Come  again  to  my  window  or  doof  , 
Doubt  not  an  affectionate  host. 

Only  pay  as  thou  pay*dst  me  before. 


Thus  musick  must  needs  be  confesi 
To  flow  from  a  fountain  above  : 

Else  how  should  it  work  in  the  1;:  "•^' 
Unchangeable  friendship  nn<l  !f    > 


STRADA'8  mOHTINGALE 
And  who  on  the  globe«caii  be  found. 

Save  your  generation  and  ours, 
That  can  be  delighted  by  sound, 

Or  ))oai^  any  musical  pow*rf  ? 


907 


STRAD-^  PHILOMELA. 

Pastorem  audivit  calami&.Philomela  canentem, 
Et  voluit  tenues  ipsa  reforro  modos ; 

Ipsa  retentavit  numeros,  didicitque  retentans 

^     Argutum  fida  reddere  voce  mjlos. 

Pastor  inassuetus  rivalem  forre,  misellam 

,  Grandius  ad  carmen  provocat,  nrget  avem 

Tuque  etiam  in  modulos  surgis  Philomela :  sed  impar 
Viribis,  heu,  impar,  exanimisque  cadis. 

Durum  certamen !  tiistis  victoria !  cantum 
Maluerit  pastor  non  supcrasse  tuum. 


STRADA'S  NIGHTINGALE. 


The  Shepherd  touch'd  his  reed ;  sweet  Philomel . 

Essay'd,  and  oft  assayed  to  catch  the  stram. 
And  treasuring,  as  on  her  ear  they  fell, 

The  numb^r^,  echo'd  note  for  note  again. 

The  peevish  youth,  who  ne*er  had  found  before  • 
A  rival  of  his  skill,  indignant  heard. 

And  soon,  (for  various  was  his  tuneful  8toro,j  i 
In  lofUer  tones  defied  the  simple  bird. 


268  ANUS  SJICULARIS. 

She  dar*d  the  taek,  and  rising,  as  he  rosei 

With  all  the  force,  that  passion  gives,  inspir'dy 
Retuni'd  the  sounds  awhile,  hut  in  the  close, 

Exhausted  fell,  and  at  his  feet  expired. 

Thus  fetrength,  not  skill  prevailed.    O  fatal  strife. 
By  thee,  poor  songstress,  playfully  begun ; 

Andy  O  sad  victory,  which  cost  thy  life, 

And  he  may  wish  that  he  had  never  won  * 


ANUS  SiECULARIS, 

Qiumjustam  eentum  armorum  aUtiem^  ipso  He  naiaUi 
es^Uvitj  et  dausii  anno  1728. 

SiHOULARis  prodigiuni  O  senecttt, 
Et  novum  ezemplum  diutumitatis, 
Cujtts  annorum  series  in  amplum  ^ 

'       desinit  orbem ! 

Vulgus  infelix  hominum,  dies  en ! 
Computo  quam  dispare  computamus ! 
Quam  tua  a  summa  proeul  est  remote 

Bummula  nostra  t 

Pabulum  nos  luxnrlesque  letH, 
Nos  simul  nati,  incipimus  perire, 
NoSy  statim  a  cunis  eita  destinamur 

pneda  sepulchro  * 

Oeenfit  mora  insidks,  ubi  viz 
Vix  opinari  est,  rapidnve  febris 
Vim  repentinam,  aut  male  pertinaeis 

seminamoiU. 


Aims  SailCULARIS. 
Sin  brevem  poisit  superare  vita 
Terminuin,  qoicquid  luperest  vaciyum, 
Iliad  ignaYiB  superest  et  imbe- 

cillibus  annis. 

Detrahnnt  multanij  nunumitque  Borti 
Morbidi  questus  gemitusque  anheli ; 
Ad  parem  crescunt  nomeruiiL  diesque 

atque  dolores 

Si  qnis  heo  vitet  (qaoU»  iUe  qoisque  enl !) 
£t  grada  pergendo  laborioeo 
Ad  tamn,  fortasse  tuum,  nKKtetur 

Affvidet,  moestum  tibi  iuepe  Tnaiti}  In-  " 
jarias,  vim,  furta,  dolo8|  ot  imio- 
lentiam,  quo  semper  eunt,  eodem 

in  ttnort 

Nil  inert  rebns  noyitaitis ,  ot  qttod 
Uspiam  est  nugamm  et  ihepttanmii 
Unios  Tolvi  yidet,  et  revolvi 

cirettlus  osvi. 

Integram  letatem  tibi  gratulamnir ; 
£t  dari  nobis  satis  lestimamtis, 
Si  toam,  saltern  yacuam  querolis 

dlmidiemus 


(iM  f 


ODE 


on  TVS  DBAJNi  t9  A  LMBTf 

Wko  lived  one  hundred  Years,  and  died  on  i 
BhtM^day,  1728. 

AvciENY  d«me,  kow  ivye  Mid  Tl»t, 
To  a  nee  like  oun  appeafs, 

Rounded  to  an  orb  at  ket,  * 
AU  tby  Mvhkude  of  yeaiBl 

We  the  herd  ef  bsmam  kind. 

Frailer  and  of  ftebl^  pew'ra  ; 
We,  to  narrow  bounds  ooBfia*d> 

L  exhaust  the  sum  of  onrs. 


Death's  delicious  banquet— we 
Perish  even  firoin  the  w<MVib, 

Swifter  than  a  shadow  flee, 

Noiirish'd  but  to  feed  the  tomb. 

Seeds  of  merciless  disease 
Lark  in  all  that  we  enjoy  ; 

Some*  that  waste  us  by  degrees. 
Some,  that  saddenly  desttoy. 

And  if  life  o'erleap  the  bourn 
Common  to  the  sons  of  men : 

What  remains,  but  that  we  mounif 
Dream,  and  doat,  and  drivel  then  ? 

Fast  as  moons  can  wax  and  wane, 

Sorrow  comes ;  and  while  we  groan, 

Pant  with  anguish  and  complain, 

Half  our  years  are  fled  and  gone. 


"  "- Jw 


VICTORIA  FORENSIS.  271 

If  a  few,  (to  few  'tis  giv'n,) 

Lingering  on  this  earthly  stage, 
Creep,  and  halt  with  steps  uneven, 
*  To  the  period  of  an  ago ; 

Wherefore  Im  they,  but  to  see 

Cunning,  arrogance,  and  force, 
Sights  lamented  much  by  thoo, 

Holding  their  aceustom'd  course  t 

Oft  was  seen  in  ages  past. 

All  that  we  with  wonder  view ; 
Often  shall  be  to  the  last ; 

Earth  produces  nothing  new. 

Thee  we  gratulate  ^  content. 

Should  propitious  Heaven  design 

Life  for  us,  as  calmly  spent. 

Though  but  half  the  length  of  thine.    ' 


VICTORIA  FORENSIS 

Caio  cum  Titio  lis  et  vexatio  longa 

Sunt  de  vicini  proprietate  soli. 
Protinus  ingentes  animos  in  jurgia  sumunt, 

Utraque  yincendi  pars  studiosa  nimis. 
Lis  tumet  in  schedulas,  et  jam  verbosior,  et  jam 

Nee  verbum  quodvis  asse  minoris  em^nt. 
Pnstereunt  menses,  et  terminus  alter  et  alter , 

Quipque  novbs  sumptus,  alter  et  alter^  habent. 
lUit  4aerens,  Mc  respondens  pendente  vocatur 

Lite;  sed  ad  finem  litis  uterque  querens. 


(272) 

THE  CAUSE  WON. 

Two  neighbomti  funovtly  dispute ; 
A  field — ^the  subject  of  the  suit. 
Trivial  the  spot,  yet  such  the  nge 
With  which  the  combatants  engage, 
*Twere  hard  to  tell,  who  coyets  most 

The  priisp at  whatsoerer  cost. 

The  pleadings  swell.    Words  still  suffice 
No  single  word  but  has  its  price. 
No  term  but  yields  some  fair  pretence 
For  novel  and  increased  ex^nse. 

Defendant  thus  becomes  a  name, 
Which  he  that  bore  it  jobj  disclaim ; 
Since  both,  in  <me  descriptMm  blended, 
Are  plaintiffii— when  the  suit  is  ended. 


BOMBYX. 

Fine  sub  Aprilis  Bombyz  exeluditar  ove    - 

Reptilis  exiguo  corpore  vermiculus, 
Frondibus  Mc  mori,  vol  vox  dum  fiat  adultus, 

Gnaviter  incumbens,  dum  satictur,  edit. 
Crescendo  ad  justnm  cum  jam  maturuit  tsvum, 

Incipit  artifici  stamine  textor  opus : 
Filaque  condensans  filis,  orbem  implicat  otIM| 

£t  sensim  in  gyris  conditus  ipse  Istet. 
Jnque  cadi  teretem  formam  se  colligit,  unde 

Egrediens  pennas  papilionis  habet ; 
Fitque  parens  tandem,  foetnmque  reponit  in  ovis  ; 

Hoc  d.emum  oxtremo  munere  functus  obit. 
Quotquot  in  hac  nostra  spirant  iminrmlwL  term 

Nulli  est  vel  brevior  vita,  rel  utilior. 


(273) 


THE  SILK  WORM. 


Thx  beams  of  April,  ere  it  goes, 
A  worm*,  scarce  Yisible,  ois^lose ; 
All  winter  long  content  to  dwell 
The  tenant  of  his  native  flhelL    . 
The  same  proUfipk  season  ^ives    . 
The  sustenance  by  which  he  lives. 
The  muib'rry  leaf,  a  simple  store, 
That  Berres  him — ^till  he  needs  no  more  ^ 
For,  his  dlmeaMioos  <m>e  completei 
Thence&iGlhi»Q»e  tver  sees  Jam  .uptt 
Though^  till  his  growing  time  be  pi^ty 
Scarce  ever  is  he  seeA  to  &6t  > 
That  homr  arriv'd,  his  work  be^ms. 
He  spins  and  weaves,  and  weaves  and  tffWB , 
Till  circle  i^on  circle  wennd 
Careless  aronnd  him  and  around, 
Conceals  him  with  a  veil,  t|iough  fHigktf 
Imperyious  to  the  keenest  sight. 
Thus  self-encWd,  as  in  a  cask^ 
At  length  he  finishes  his  task : 
And,  though  a  worm,  when  he  was  losty 
Or  caterpillar  at  the  most. 
When  next  we  see  him,  wings  he  wears, 
And  in  papilio-pomp  appears ; 
Becomes  oviparous ;  supplies 
With  future  worms  and  future  flies. 
The  next  ensuing  year ; — and  dies ! 
Well  were  it  for  the  world,  if  all. 
Who  creep  about  this  earthly  baUy 
Though  shorter-liv'd  than  most  he  be, , 
Were  useful  in  their  kind  as  he. 


(274) 


INNOCENS  PRiEBTATRIX. 

SscuLA  per  campos  nullo  defessa  labore. 

In  cella  ut  stipet  xnella,  vagatur  apis, 
Fnrpuream  vix  florem  opifex  prsetervolat  ununif 

Innameras  inter  quas  alit  hortas  opes ; 
Herbula  gramineis  viz  una  innascitur  agris, 

Thesauri  unde  aliquid  non  studiosa  legit. 
A  floro  ad  florem  transit,  mollique  volando 

Delibat  tactu  suave  quod  intus  habent. 
Omnia  delibat,  parce  sed  et  omnia,  furti, 

Ut  ne  Tel  minimum  yideris  indicium: 
Omnia  degustat  tarn  parce,  ut  gratia  nulla 

Floribas,  ut  nuUus  diminuatur  odor. 
Non  ita  predantur  modice  bruchique  et  erucra  ; 

Non  ista  hortornm  maxima  pestis,  avos ; 
Nonrite  raptores  corvi,  quorum  improba  rostra 

Despoliant  agros,  effodiuntque  sata. 
Succos  immiscens  snccis,  ita  suaviter  omnes 

Temperat,  ut  dederit  chymia  nulla  pares. 
Viz  furtum  #st  illud,  dicive  injuria  debet; 

Quod  cera,  et  multo  melle  rependit  apis. 


THE   ■ 
INNOCENT  THIEF. 

Not  a  flower  can  be' found  in  the  fields. 
Or  the  spot  that  we  till  for  our  pleasur 

From  the  largest  to  leasf^^,  but  it  yields 
To  the  bee,  never  wearied,  a  treasure 


THE  INNOCENT  THIEF. 
Scarce  any  she  quits  unezplor'd, 

With  a  diligence  truly  exact :     ' 
Tet,  fteal  what  the  may  for  her  hoard. 

Leaves  evidence  none  of  the  fact. 


275 


Her  lucrative  task  she  pursues, 
And  pilfers  with  so  much  address, 

That  none  of  their  odour  they^lose, 
Nor  charm  by  their  beauty  the  less. 

Not  thus  inoffensively  preys 
The  canker-worm,  indwelling  foe  * 

His  voracity  not  thus  allays 
The  sparrow,  the  finch,  or  the  crow. 

The  worm,  more  expensively  fed, 
The4>ride  of  the  garden  devours; 

And  birds  pick  the  seed  from  the  bed, . 
Still  less  to  be  spar'd  than  the  flowers. 

But  she  with  such  delicate  skill 
Her  pillage  so  fits  for  her  use, 

That  the  chymist  in  vaia  with  his  still   ' 
Would  labour  the  like  to  produce.  • 

Then  grudge  not  her  temperate  meals,  . 

Nor  a  benefit  blame  as  a  theft ; 
SincO)  stole  she  not  all  that  she  steals. 

Neither  honey  nor  wax  would  be  loil. 


(276) 


DENNERI  ANUS.* 

DocTUM  iniu  artifieem  jotf  •  eekbrata  Iktotnr. 

Deimeri  pinxit  eoatn  rtudion  numm. 
Neo  fiupor  est  ocmia,  fronti  nee  mga  severs, 

FUccida  nee  sulcis  pendet  utfinqne  gena. 
nil  habet  illepidaniy  morosum,  aut  triste  tabella 

Argentum  capitis  pneter,  anile  nihil, 
Apparent  nivei  yitie  sob  marline  cani^ 

Fila  colorati  qualia  Seres  bsbcnt ; 
Lanugo  mentum,  sed  qam  tenoissima,  YestHi 

MoUisque,  et  qnalis  Persica  mala  tegit 
Nulla  Tel  •  mininis  fugiont  spiraeiila  visum  *, 

At  neque  lineoHs  de  cutis  i:dla  latet.        * 
Spectatnm  veninht,  novitas  quos  alHcit  usqttam, 

Quoeque  vel  ingenil  fama,  vel  artis  amor. 
Adveaiont  juvenes ;  et  anus  si  possit  amari, 

Dennere,  agnoscunt  hoc  mendsse  tuam. 
Adveniunt  hilaree  nympfass ;  similemque  senectam 

Tarn  pulchram  et  placidam  dent  sibi  fata,  rogant 
Matrons  adveniunt,  vetulaeqae  iatentur  in  ore 

Quod  nihil  horrendum,  ridiculumve  vident. 
Quantus  hones  arti,  per  quam  placet  ipsa  senectus 

QuflB  facit,  nt  nymphis  invideatur  anus .' 
Pictori  cedit  qu©  gloria,  cum  nee  ApelU 

Majorem  famam  det  Cjrtherea  sue  1 

•  Diu  publico  fuil  spectaculo  egregia  lisec  tabula  in  ares 
Palatina  exteriori,  juxta  fanum  Westmnnastre  riensc. 


(277) 


DINNER'S  OLD  WOMAN. 

In  thi8  mimick  form  of  a  matron  in  years, 
How  plainly  the  pencil  of  Denner  appears 
The  matron  herself,  in  whose  old  age  we  see 
Not  a  trace  of  decline^  what  a  wonder  is  she  ! 
No  dimness  of  eye,  and  no  cheek  hanging  low, 
No  wrinkle,  or  deep  furrow'd  frown  on  the  brow ! 
Her  forehead  indeed  is  l^re  circled  around 
With  locks  like  the   rU>bon,  with  which  they  are 

boond ; 
While  glossy  and  smooth,  an^  as  soft  as  the  skin 
Of  a  delicate  peach,  is  the  down  of  her  chin ; 
Bat  nothing  unpleasant,  or  sad,  or  severe. 
Or  that  indicates  life  in  its  winter — is  here* 
Tet  all  is  expre^s'd,  with  fidelity  due. 
Nor  a  pimple,  nor  freckle,  conceal'd  from  the  view. 

Many  fond  of  new  sights,  or  who  cherish  a  taste 
For  the  labours  of  art,  to  the  spectacle  ^^aste  ; 
The  youths  all  agree,  that  could  old  age  inspire 
The  passion  of  love,  hers  would  kindle  the  fire, 
And  the  matrons,  with  pleasure,  confess  that  they  seo 
Ridiculous  nothing  or  hideous  in  thee. 
The  nymphs  for  themselves  scarcely  hope  a  decline 
O  wonderful  woman !  as  placid  as  thine. 

Strange  magick  of  art !  which  the  youth  can  engage 
To  penise,  half  enamoured,  the  features  of  age  ; 
And  force  from  the  virgin  a  sigh  of  despair. 
That  she  when  as  old,  shall  be  equally  fair ! 
How  great  is  the  glory,  that  Denner  has  gain*d. 
Since  Apelles  not  more  for  his  Vcnii^  obtain'd  ' 

Vol.  III.  24 


(«78) 


LACRYMiE  PICTORIS. 

ImrAHTBM  aodiyk  pnenun,  sua  gandU,  Apellea 

Intempenivo  fkto  obiisae  diem. 
lUe)  licet  trUti  perculsus  imagine  mortia, 

Proferri  io  medium  corpoa  imme  jubet, 
Ct  calamam,  et  euccoa  poscena,  **  Hoe  accipe  luctua, 

'<  Moerorem  hone/'  dixit,  **  nate,  parentia  habe  '" 
Dixit ;  et,  nt  claoait,  cfamsos  depioxit  ocelioa ; 

Officio  pariter  fidna  utrii[ae  pater : 
Frontemqae  «t  crinea,  nee  a^ac  pallentia  fontiaTiB 

Oacula,  adnmbravit  Ingubre  picter  opua 
Perge  parens,  moerendo  tnoa  expendere  Inotna; 

Nondnm  <^iaa  afaK^Txt  triate  anprema  manna. 
Vidit  adhac  mpUea  genitor  anper  oacnla  riaoa; 

Vidit  adhnc  Teneres  irmboiflae  genia, 
£t  teneraa  raptim  venerea,  blandbaqde  leporea, 

Et  tacitoa  riana  tranatolii  ln.tid»alam. 
Pingendo  deaiate  tunm  aignare  dalorem ', 

fllioli  longnm  viret  imago  tni ; 
Vitet,  et  iBtema  viTea  tn  lande,  nee  arte 

Yxncendaa  pictor,  nee  jmtale  pi^er. 


TEARS  OP  A  PAINTER. 

Apsllks,  hearing  that  his  boy 
Had  jost  expir'd^ — his  only  joy  I 
Although  the  sight  with  anguish  tore  him. 
Bade  place  his  dear  remains  before  him, 


THE  TEARS  OF  A  PAINTER.  279 

He  seized  his  brush,  his  colours  spread ; 
And — ^*  Oh !  my  child,  accept," — ^he  said, 
**  ('Tis  ail  that  I  can  now  bestow,) 
«  This  tribute  of  a  father's  wo  !" 
Then,  faithful  to  the  two-fold  part, 
Both  of  his  feelings  and  his  art. 
He  cloB*d  his  eyes,  with  tender  care, 
And  fonn'd  at  once  a  fellow  pair. 
His  brow,  with  amber  locks  beset, 
And  lips  he  drew,  not  livid  yet , 
And  shaded  all,  that  he  had  done. 
To  a  jost  image  of  his  son. 

Thu  •  far  is  well.    But  view  again, 
The  eruse  of  thy  paternal  pain ! 
Thy  u>elancholy  task  foMl ! 
It  needs  the  last,  last  touches  stllL 
Agun  his  peneiFs  powers  he  tries, 
For  on  his  hps  a  smHe  he  spies : 
And  still  his  cheek,  unfibded,  shows 
The  deepest  damaric  of  Hie  rose. 
Then,  heedless  to  tiie  ^ni^^  wk^. 
With  fondest  eagerness  he  stole. 
Till  scarce  himsetf  distiBc%  knew 
The  cherub  copied  from  the  true. 

Now,  painter,  ce&se !  Thy  task  is  doiN»^ 
Long  lives  this  image  of  thy  son ; 
Nor  short  liv'd  shall  the  glory  prove, 
Or  of  thy  labour,  or  thy  love. 


(2^  } 

SPE  FINIS. 

Ad  dextram,  nd  Itevam,  porro,  retro,  itque,  reditqae, 

Dcpr^nsum  in  laqueo  quern  labyrinthus  habet, 
Et  legit  et  relcgit  gressus,  sese  explicet  unde, 

Perplexum  qucerens  unxie  revolvat  iter. 
Sta  niodo,  respira  paulum,  simu]  accipe  filum ; 

Certius  et  melius  non  Ariadne  dabit. 
Sic  to,  SIC  solum  exepdies  errore ,  viarum 

Principium  invenies,  id  tibi  finis  erit. 

THE  MAZE. 

f  ROM  right  to  left,  «iid  to  and  fro, 
Caught  in  a  labyrinth  you  go. 
And  turn,  and  turn,  and  turn  again. 
To  feolye  the  mysfry,  but  in  vain ; 
Stand  still,  and  breathe,  and  take  from  me 
A  clew,  that  aobn  ahall  let  you  iree .' 
Not  Ariadne,  if  you  mi>et  her, 
Herself  could  tervis  you  with  a  better. 
Tou  enter'd  easily — find  where 
And  make,  with  ease,  your  exit  there  I 


NEMO  mSER  NISI  COMPARATUS 

"  Quis  fuit  infeliz  adeo  !  quis  perditus  ©que  !" 

Ck>nqueritur  mcesto  carmine  tristis  amans. 
Non  noYus  hie  questus,  raroye  auditus ;  amai^es 

Deserti  et  spreti  mille  quemntur  idem. 
Fatum  decantas  quod  tu  miseralMle,  multus 

Deplorat,  multo  cum  Corydone,  Strephon, 
Si  tua  cam  reKquis  confertur  amica  puellis, 

Non  ea  vel  iiola  est  ferrea,  tuve  miser. 


.281  ) 

NO  SORROW  PECULIAR  TO  THE 
SUFFERER. 

The  loTor,  in  melodiqus  versos, 
His  singular  distress  rehearses. 
Still  closing  with  a  rueful  cry,  * 

"  Was  ever  such  a  wretch  as  I  ?" 
Yes !  Thousands  have  endured  before 
AU  thy  distress ;  some,  haply  mora 
Unnumbered  Corydons  complain, 
And  Strephons,  of  the  like  disdain ; 
And  if  thy  Ghloe  be  of  steel, 
Too  deaf  to  hear,  too  hard  to  ^1 ; 
Not  her  alone  that  eensure  ilbs. 
Nor  thoa  al^ne  hast  lost  thy  wils. 


UMAX. 

Fbovoibus,  et  pomis,  hei&tsqne  tenadter  hmm/t 

Limaz,  et  secum  portat  idnqne  domnm. 
Tatncrfai  hac  sese  occultat,  a  quando  periclom 

Imminet,  aut  subitm  decidit  imber  aquss. 
Comua  vel  leviter  iangas,  so  protinus  in  s0 

Oolligit,  in  proprios  contrahitorqne  kM«. 
Seeum  habitat  qnacnnqae  habitat ;  i^i  tota  jRi^lIex , 

Solas  qoas  adamat,  quasque  reqnirit  opes. 
Seeum  potat,  edit,  dormit ;  sibi  in  ssdibus  iisdem 

Qpnviva  et  comes  est,  ho^s  et  hospitium. 
Lomaoem,  quacumque  siet,  quacumque  moretur* 

Siquis  eum  quterat,  dixeris  esse  domL 
24« 


(288) 


THE  SNAIL. 

To  grasS)  or  leaf,  or  fruit,  or  wall, 
The  Snail  slicks  close,  aor  fears  to  fall, 
•As  if  he  grew  Uiere,  house  and  all 

Together 

Within  that  house  secure  he  hidosy 
When  danger  imminent  betides 
Of  storm,  or  oiker  harm  bestdea 

Of  weather, 

GiTO  but  hbt  home  the  dighterit  touch, 
His  self-coUeetiBg  power  in  such, 
He  shrinks  into  his  house,  withmucJi 

Displeasure. 

Where*er  he  dwells,  ho  dwells  alone, 
Except  himself  has  chattels  none, 
Well  satisfied  to  bo  his  own 

Whole  treasure* 

Thus,  hermit-like,  his  life  he  leads 
Nor  partner  of  his  banquet  needs. 
And  if  he  meets  one,  onJjr  feeds 

The  faster. 

Who  seeks  him  must  be  worse  than  blind, 
(He  and  his  house  are  so  combined,)  ^ 
If,  finding  |t,  he  fails  to  find 

Its  number  i 


=*.j;  ^ 


ECIUES  ACADEMICUS. 

Calcari  infltrnitar  juvenis ;  geminove  yd  uno, 

Haud  maltuBiy  ant  ocreis  cujus,  et  unde,  refert ; 
Fors  fortasse  suo,  fortasse  alkmde,  flagello ; 

Qaantalacimque  sui,  pars  tamen  ipse  sui. 
Sio  rite  armatus,  quinis  (et  forte  minoris) 

Conductum  solidis  scandere  gestit  equam. 
Lffitos  et  impavidos  qua  fert  fortuna  (yolantem 

Cemito)  qoadnipedem  pungit  et  urget  iter  : 
Admiflso  cursu,  per  rura,  per  oppida  fertur : 

Adlatrant  catali,  multaqae  ridet  anus. 
Jamqoe  fbrox  plagis  orecta  ad  yerbera  deztoa 

Calce  cruentata  lassat  ntrttmqiie  latus. 
Impete  sed  tanto  yizdum  confbcerit  iU» 

Blillia  proposits  sexye  noyemye  yis, 
Viribus  absumptis,  fessusque  labore,  caballus 

Stemit  in  immundum  seqae  equitemquo  lutom 
Vectns  iter  peraget  cnrm  plaastroye  yiator  ? 

Proh  pudor  et  facinns !  cogitor  ire  pedes. 
Si,  nee  inexpertum,  seniorem  junior  audis, 

Qus  aint  exignse  commoda  disce  mors. 
Quam  tibi  procipio,  breyis  est,  sed  regula  certa; 

Ocjufl  at  possis,  pergere  lentus  eas !  - 


THE  CANTAB. 

With  two  spnrs  or  one ;  and  no  great  matter  wbiek 
Boots  bought,  or  boots  borrowM,  a  whip,  or  a  switch, 
"Five  shillings  or  less  for  the  hire  of  his  beast. 
Paid  part  into  hand  ; — ^you  must  wait  for  the  reit 
Thus  equipt,  Academicus  climbs  up  his  horse, 
And  out  they  both  sally  for  better  or  worse ; 
Hit  heart  yoid  of  fear,  and  as  light  as  a  feather. 
And  in  yiolent  haste  to  go  not  knowing'  whither; 


^^ 


284  THE  SALAD. 

Through  the  fields  and  the  towns,  (see  !)  ho  scampers 

alone, 
And  is  looked  at,  axid  laugh'd  at  by  old  and  by  young. 
Till  at  length  oYerspent,  and  his  sides  smear 'd  with 

blood, 
Down  tumbles  his  horse,  man  and  all,  in  the  mud. 
In  a  wagon  or  chaise,  shall  he  finish  his  route  ? 
Oh !  scandalous  fate  !  he  inust*do  it  on  foot. 

Young  gentlemen  hear !  I  am  older  than  yon ! 
The  adyice  that  I  give  I  have  proved  to  be  true. 
Wherever  your  journey  may  be,  never  doubt  it, 
The  fiister  yoa  ride,  you're  the  longer  abottt  it 


THE  SAtAD 

JIT 

vmGiL* 

IJwu  StJh  1799.] 

TWE  winter-night  now  well-nigh  worn  away, 
The  wakeful  cock  proclaim'd  approaching  day. 
When  Simulus,  poor  tenant  of  a  farm 
Of  narrowest  limitS)  hea^  the  shrill  alarm, 
Tawn'd,  stretched  his  limbs,  and  anxious  to  provide 
AgiiiBsi  the  pangs  of  hunger  WM^ppUed, 
By  stow  degrees  his  tatter'd  bed  forsook, 
And  poking  in  this  dark,  expk>r'd  the  nook 
Whei*  ambers  slept,  wiUi  ashes  henp^d  around, 
And  with^bnn^  fingexs^ods  ^^easure  fi)and. 

It  chaatt'd  that  fi:om  a  brand  beneath  his  no8«. 
Sure  pnaf  of  latent  fire,  «ome  smoke  arose  ;   . 


\ 


THE  SALAD  285 

When  trimming  with  a  pin  th'  incrusted  tow, 
And  stooping  it  towards  the  coals  below, 
He  toils,  with  cheeks  distended,  to  excite 
The  ling'ring  flame,  and  gains  at  length  a  light. 
With  prudent  heed  he  spreads  his  hand  before 
The  quiv'ring  lamp,  and  opes  his  gran'ry  door. 
Small  was  his  stock,  but  taking  for  the  day, 
A  measur'd  stint  of  twice  eight  pounds  away. 
With  these  his  mill  he^seeks.    A  shelf  at  hand, 
Fix'd  in  the  wall,  affords  his  lamp  a  stand : 
Then  baring  both  his  arms — a  sleeveless  coat , 
He  girds,  the  rough  ezuvis  of  a  goat : 
And  with  a  rubber,  for  that  use  design'd. 
Cleansing  his  mill  within — beginrto  grind ; 
Each  hand  has  its  employ ;  laVring  amain. 
This  turns  the  winch,  while  that  supplies  tho  grain. 
The  stone  revolving  rapidly,  now  glows 
And  the  bruis'd  corn  a  mealy  current  flows ; 
While  he,  to  make  his  heavy  labour  light. 
Tasks  oft  his  left  hand  to  relieve  his  right ; 
And  chants  with  rudest  accent,  to  beguile 
His  ceafleless  toil,  as  rude  a  strain  the  while. 
And  now,  **  Dame  Cybalq,  come  forth !"  he  cries, 
But  Cybale,  still  slumb'ring,  noogfat  replies. 

From  Afric  she,  the  swain's  sole  serving  maid, 
Whose  face  and  form  alike  her  birth  betray'd. 
With  woolly  locks,  lips  tumid  ^  sable  skin, 
Wide  bosom,  udders  flaccid,  belly  thin. 
Legs  slender,  broad  and  most  misshapen  feet, 
Chapp'd  into  chinks,  and  parch 'd  with  solar  heat. 
Such,  summon*d  oft,  she  came ;  at  his  command 
Fresh  fuel  heap'd,  the  sleeping  embers  fknn'd, 
And  made  in  hsste  her  simmering  skillet  steam, 
Replenished  newly  from  the  neighbouring  stream. 

The  labours  of  the  mill  perform'd,  a  sieve 
The  mingled  flour  and  bran  must  next  receive, 


286  THE  SALAD. 

Which  nfaakon  oft,  shooU  Ceres  throuch  refin'dy 
And  better  dress'd,  her  bosks  all  left  behind. 
This  done,  at  once,  his  future  plain  repast, 
Unleavened,  on  a  shaven  board  he  cast, 
With  tepid  lymph,  tot  lar^y  seak'd  it  mM, 
Then  gathered  H  with  both  hands  to  a  baU. 
And  spreading  it  agaia  with  both,  hmds  wide. 
With  sprinkled  salt  the  stifien'd  mass  supplied  ; 
At  length,  the  rtnbbom  sabstance,  doij  wm^^it^ . 
Takes  from  his  palms  impieaaM  the  sfaepe  itoaghU 
Becomes  an  Qrb-*«SHi  quartered  into  shares. 
The  faithful  mark  of  juit  diviston  bears. 
Last,  on  his  hearth  it  fiada  ceoTenicst  spaeo. 
For  Cybale  before  had  swept  tke  plteei 
And  there,  with  tike  and  eo^en  evefe^tead^ 
She  leaves  ii-*-ieeki]»g  ia  Its  soltcy  bed. 

Nor  Similiiiy  widls  Volo^  thus,  iJone, 
His  part  performM,  peeves  heedfass  ef  hie  own. 
Bat  sedulous,  net  mer^  U  enhdiae 
His  hanger,  but  to  plene  hie  psiato  toe, 
Prepares  more  aav'fj  food.    Hk  ehutuwy-^de 
Couhi  boast  no  gammon,  sa|^ed  well,  mid  dried^ 
And  cook'd  behind  him  ;  b«t  siifikient  store. 
Of  bundled  anise,  and  a  cheese  it  boro ; 
A  broad  rovmd  ofaeett,  which,  tluro'  ka  centre  etnng, 
•  With  a  tough  broom-twig,  in  the  comer  hung  ; 
The  prudent  he»o  ti»reib»  with  addrwm. 
And  quick  despatch,  MW  Meke  another  mom 

Close  to  his  cottage  lay  a  gardenHgroaad, 
With  weeds  and  osiers  sparely  girt  aromid, 
Small  was  the  spot,  but  Hb'ral  to  produces 
Nor  wanted  oaght  that  serves  a  parent's  mw^ 
And  •ometinBtti  ev'a  the  rich  wmdd  borrow  theiirei| 
Although  its  tillage  was  his  solo  expense. 
For  oft,  as  firom  his  toils  abroad  he  ceas'd, 
Home-boond  by  weathor,  or  seme  stated  feasl^ 


■   •^%vstf 


THK  SALAD.  W\ 

Ilia  debt  of  culturo  lioro  ho  duly  jiuidj  ' 

And  only  leit  the  plough  to  wield  the  spado. 
He  knew  to  give  eitch  plant  the  sojI  it  needs, 
To  drill  the  g round ,  and  cover  cloae  llie  fleodsi 
And  could  with  easa  compel  the  wanton  rill 
To  turn  J  and  wind,  obedient  to  his  will. 
There  flouTJsh'd  atarwortj  and  the  branchmg  kict, 
Tho  Eorrel  ncidj  atid  the  mallow  Hivoet, 
Tho  sklrret  and  tho  let^k's  aspiring  kuid, 
The  noxioUH  poppy — quencher  of  the  mind  ! 
Sal ubr ions  sequel  (if  a  sumptuous  board, 
Tho  lettuce,  and  tho  long  huge  bellied  gourd  ] 
But  Ihese  (for  none  his  appetite  controlfd 
With  stricter  away)  the  tlirifly  rustick  sold 
With  broom-lwigs  neatly  bound,  each  kind  apail. 
Ho  bore  them  ever  to  the  pubhck  mart ;  ^    • 

Whence,  laden  BtiU,  but  with  a  lighter  load, 
Of  cash  well-earn 'd,  he  look  hta  homeward  rottd, 
Expending  seldom,  ere  he  quitted  Rome, 
Hi»  gtdna,  in  fieBh-meat  for  a  feaal  at  home. 
There,  at  no  cost,  on  onions,  rank  and  red. 
Or  the  cnrrd  endive's  bitter  leaf,  ho  fed : 
On  Malliona  nlio'd,  or  with  a  aen;^ual  guitf 
On  rockols— ^foul  provocatives  of  luil ! 
Nor  oven  sbunn'd  with  smarting  guniB  to  prcaa 
NaaturtiiMn — pungent  face-diBtorting  mess  1 

I  regale  tiow  alio  in  hia  thought^ 
i  his  garden-ground  he  sought ; 
L  hl^  handa^  he  first  diiplae'd 
*  (ii  garliek,  large,  and  rooted  £ast ; 

^isley  ne^t  ho  culls,  * ' 

^uddera  ns  he  pulk, 
-  it  succeeds, 
■Jtr^ds  her  trembling  seeds 

^  fire  he  noiv  demands 
■  4r¥ant'F  h:Lnds  i 


288  THK  SALAD. 

When  stripping  all  his  garlick  first,  he  tore 

Th*  exteriotir  coats,  and  cast  them  on  the  floor. 

Then  cast  away  with  like  contempt  the  skin, 

Flimsier  concealment  of  the  cloves  within. 

These  search'd,  and  perfect  found,  he  one  hy  one, 

Rins'd,  and  di^KM'd  whfabtlhe  hoUow  stone. 

Salt  added,  and  a  lump  of  sahed  cheese, 

With  his  injected  herbs  ho  cover'd  these, 

And  tucking  with  his  left  his  ^uuck  tight, 

And  seizing  fast  the  pestle  with  his  right, 

The  garlick  brnistag  &at,  he  soon  e:iprew'd. 

And  mix*d  the  Tarious  juices  of  the  rest 

He  grinds,  and  by  degrees  his  herbs  below, 

Xjost  in  each  other,  their  own  pow're  forego. 

And  with  the  cheese  in  compound,  to  the  sight 

Nor  wholly  green  appear,  nor  wholly  white. 

His  nostrils  oft  the  forceful  iiime  resent, 

He  cars*d  full  oft  his  dinner  for  its  scent. 

Or  with  wry  fiiees,  wiping  as  he  spoke, 

The  trickling  tears,  cried  "  vengeance  on  the  smoke.' 

The  work  prooeeds :  not  roughly  turns  be  now 

The  pestle,  but,  in  circles  smooth  and  slow. 

With  cautious  hand,  that  grudgos  what  it  spUls, 

Some  drops  of  oUve-oU  he  next  instils. 

Then  vinegar  with  eantion  sesroely  less, 

And  gathering  to  a  ball  the  medley  meap, 

Last,  with  two  fingers  frugally  applied, 

Sweeps  the  small  remnant  ftom  the  me^rVi  side 

And  thus  complete  in  figure  and  in  kind. 

Obtains  at  length  the  Salad  he  design'd. 

And  now  black  Cybale  before  him  stands, 
The  cake  drawn  newly  glowinfj  in  her  hands, 
He  glad  receives  it,  chasing  far  away 
All  fears  of  famine  for  the  passing  dty  ; 
His  legs  enclos'd  in  buskins,  and  his  iiead 
?n  its  tough  casque  of  leather,  forth  he  led 
And  yok'd  his  steers,  a  dull  obedient  pair, 
Then  drove  afield,  and  plung'd  the  pointed  share 


(280) 

TRANSLATIONS  OF  GREEK  VERSES. 
[Begun  ^gust,  1799.] 


FBOM 

THE  GEEEK  OP  JULIANUS. 

A  Q^AwwAUt  hit  conpaaions  alftui) 

Alone  from  battle  fled. 
His  mother  kindling  with  disdain 

That  she  had  b«me  him,  struck  him  dead } 

For  courage,  and  not  birth  alone. 
In  Sparta,  testifies  a  son  ! 


THE  SAME,  BY  PALAADAS. 

A  SPAmTAV,  'scaping  from  the  fight, 
His  mother  met  him  in  his  flight, 
Upheld  a  faulchlon  to  his  breast, 
And  thus  the  fugitive  address'd : 

<'  Thou  canst  but  lire  to  blot  with  shame 
Indelible  thj  mother's  name. 
While  ey'ry  breath,  that  thou  ohalt  draw. 
Offends  against  thy  country's  law ; 
But,  if  thou  perish  by  this  band^ 
Myself  indeed  throughout  the  land. 
To  my  dishonour,  shall  be  known 
The  mother  still  of  such  a  son ; 
But  Sparta  will  be  safe  and  free, 
And  that  shall  serve  to  comfort  mo." 
Vol.  IIJ  25 


(290 


AN  EPITAPH. 


Mr  nune-'Hny  ooimtcyit^^i^Mt  are  they  to  thee'i 
What,  wlwther  boo  or  proud,  my  pedigree  '    ^ 
Perhaps  I  far  turpass'd  tXt  other  men — 
Perhapa  I  Sbfi  belev  them«U— whftt  then  ' 
Suffice  it,  atranger !  that  t&ou'aeesi  a  tomb — 
Tho«  kiiow*it  it»  liii    tt  htdtei'Hi»mattw  idtoii. 


ANOtBER. 

Take  to  thy  bosom,  gfefttfe  earth,  a  swim 
With  much  hard  labour  in  thy  aervice  vrom  \ 

He  set  the  vines,  that  clothe  yon  ample  pliun, 
And  he  these  plives,  that  the  vale  adorn 

He  fill'd  with  gram  the  glebe  ;  the  rills  he  led 
Thro'  this  green  Iife?l!«giB,  and  tfio»&^frtiflfifffio^L 

Thou,  therefore,  earth  i  He  ligtely  d*r  MtmOf*^ 
His  hoary  head,  and  dftck "  hiB'gitive*  witb  ^^w'tat' 


-^&6I^- 


ATfOTUER 

Paiktek,  this  likeness  is  too  strong, 
.  And  we  shall  mourn  the  dead  too  long* 


{my 


ANOTIJER. 


At  threeacore  !Vf  mteps*  9Qd:I4ii»d 
A  cheecfeM  beiag^^^.fwd^aii; 

The  nigiiialikiipt  I  never  tietj. 
And  wisjijny  foUii^aie^^iM. 


BY  CALLIMAaiWl^. 

At  mom  we  jA&6^  en  itts  iiiiMC*ltb»C| 
Tenng  Menaltppue ;  and  At  eventide. 

Unable  to  sustain  a  loss  «o  dear. 
By  her  own  hand  ^sbloemkig  Hfltee.ti£ed. 

Thus  Aristippn»]iioni»*d^hi8  nebkiitxnDey 
Annihilated  by  a  denMe  blew, 

Nor  son  fsoidd  hepe,  nor  dang^iteriMteitf.Mifeifi^ 
And  ail  Cyreno  sadden'd  at  his  wo. 


ON  MILTIADES. 


IviiLTiADKs »  thy  valour  best 
(Although  in  every  region  known) 

The  >nen  of  Persia  can  attest, 
Taught  by  thyself  at  Marathon. 


Km) 


ON  AN  INFANT. 

Bewail  not  much,  my  parents !  me  the  pre^ 
Of  ruthloM  Ades,  and  sepulchred  here 
An  infanti  in  my  fifth  searce  finish'd  yoax« 
He  found  all  sportire,  innocent,  and  gay^ 
Tour  young  Callimachas ;  and  if  I  knew. 
Not  many  joys,  my  griefs  were  also  few. 


BY  HERACUDES. 

Iir  Cnidof  bQr%  tiie  eaoaoH  I  became 
Of  Eophron.    Aretimias  was  mj  name. 
His  bed  I  shar*d,  nor  pioy*d  a  barren- bride, 
Bat  bore  two  children  at  a  birth,  and  died. 
One  child  I  leave  to.  solace  and  uphold 
Euphron  heraafUr^  when  infinn  and  old. 
And  one,  for  his  remembraneo  salw,  I  bear 
Td  Pinto's  reahn,  ti&  he  shall  JQi&Fme  thmre* 


ON  THE  REED. 

I  VfAS  of  late  a  barren  plant. 
Useless,  insignificant. 
Nor  Bgj  nor  grape,  nor  apple  bore, 
A  native  of  the  marshy  slioro  ; 
But  gathered  for  poetick  use, 
And  plung'd  into  a  sable  juice. 


TO  HBALTH.                       293 

Of  wliich  my  m6dicum  1  sip, 

With  narrow  mouth  and  slender  Mp, 

At  onoe,  although  by  nature  dumb,       • 

All  eloquent  I  have  become, 

And  speak,  wkh  fluency  |i«U»'di 

Aa  if  by  PhoBbus'  self  inspir'd. 

• 

* 

TO  flEALTtt. 

Eldbbt  bom  of  powers  divine ! 

Blest  Hygeia!  bo  it  mine, 

To  enjoy  what  thou  canst  give, 

And  henctfiec^  ^th  tbmU^k^ 

For  in  pow'r  if  pleasure  be, 

Wealth,  or  napi'rous  progeny, 

,Or  m  amoroqa  embrace,                                    ,  ^ 

Where  no  fpy  infwta  the  phM» ; 

Or  in  aught  thai  Hear^nbeirtQVB 

To  alleviate  human  woes,                             • 

When  the  weaiy  heart  despairs 

Of  arespitefromiticwres;      ^ 

These  and  ev'ry  true  delight 

Flourish  only  in  thy  mght ; 

And  the  lOster  Graoea  Thamft 

Owe,  themselves,  their  youth  to  thee, 

Without  whom  -V%W7  wssesfl 

Much,.lfut,nare^JwpPtoeM- 

25* 

• 

OH 

THE  ASTR0L06£JEt& 

Th*  Astrologert  did  all  alike  preiage 
My  onole's  dying  in  eztremd  old  age, 
One  only  diaogreed.    But  he  was  wisCf 
And  i|K>ke  not,  till  he  heard  the  fun'ral  crioo. 


oir 
AN  OLD  WOMAN. 

Mtcilla  dyed  her  locks,  His  said ; 

But  'tis  a  foul  aspersion,  , 

She  buys  them  black  ;  they  tbervfcms  need 

No  subsequent  immersion  •  . 


ONINVALros. 

Fab  happier  are  the  dead,  methinks,  than  thej» 
Who  look  for  death,  and  fear  it  ey'ry  day. 


(295; 


ON  FLATTERERS. 

No  miseliief  worthiel  of  our  iear 

In  nature  can  be  found, 
Than  friendship,  in  oBtent  sincere 

But  hollow  and  nasoond, 
IW  luird  into  a^ngeroos  dreamy 

We  oloaa  intdld  a  fi>e, 
Who  Rtrikes,  when  most  secure  we  seem, 

Th'  inevitable  blow. 


'  ON  THE  3WALLOW. 

AtTicK  maid !  with  honey  fed, 

Bear'st  thou  to  thj  callow  brooa 

Tender  loonst  from  the  mead, 
Destined  their  delicious  food ! 

Te  have  kindred  vmces  dear, 
Ye  alike  unfold  the  wing, 

Migrate  hither,  sojourn  here. 

Both  attendant  on  the  spring ! 

Ah  for  pity  drop  the  jHrize  ; 

Let  it  not,  with  truth,  be  said| 
That  a  songster  gasps  and  dies. 

That  a  songster  may  be  fed.  . 


iL 


(396) 


LATE  AoanmED  \^r£4i/rH. 

Poor  Sn  my  youth,  and  ixk^'tM^mmtVi 
Rich  to  no  end,  I  ouBe  «ij.MitaHM«Bur : 

Who  nanght  enjoy'd,  rnkt^jmrn^f  dmyf49k»m»am 
And  naoKht,  when  old,  ex9oyUM«>^^^  ^  pow*r. 


oir 

Hast  thou  vftiend  ?  ^&m  haiUPladfd 

A  rieh  and^atgo  enfply^ 
Treaanre  to  aerro  year  ev^ry^sotd, 

Well  m8Bag*d,^^ti]|y<m*^e 


A  BATH,  BY  PLATO. 

Did  Cytherea  to  the  dues 
From  this  pellucid  lymph  arise  ? 
Or  was  it  Cytherea*8  touch, 
When  bathins^  here,  that  made  it  such. 


S325S5S!* 


(207) 

OH 

^    A  FOWLER,  BY  ISIODORUS. 

With  seeds  and  birdliiriSTfrom  the  desert  air, 
fiumelus  gathered  fre6/tTiough  scanty,  fare. 
No  lordly  patron's  hand  he  deign 'd  to  kiss. 
Nor  lux'ry  knew,  save  liberty,  nor  bliss. 
Thrice  thirty  years  he  liv'd,  and  to  his  heirs 
His  seeds  bequeath*d,  his  birdlime,  and  his  snares 


ON  NIOBE. 

Charon  !  receive  a  family  o^  board. 
Itself  sufficient  for  tiiy  crazy  yawl ', 

Apollo  and  Diana,  for  a  wor<d 
By  me  too  proiuily  spoken,  slew  vm  all. 


ON  A  GOOD  MAN, 

Trat'ller,  regret  not  me ;  for  then  shalt  find 

Jast  causo  of  sorrow  none  hi  my  decease, 
Who,  dying,  children's  children  left  behind. 

And  with  one  wife  liy'd  many  years  in  peace : 
Three  virtuous  youths  espous'd  my  daughters  threc^ 

And  oft  their  in&nts  in  n^  bosom  lay, 
Nor  saw  I  one,  of  all  deriv'd  from  me. 

Touched  with  diiease^  or  torn  by  death  away* 
Their  duteous  hands  my  iun'ral  rites  bestow 'd 

And  me,  by  blameless  manners  fitted  well 
To  seek  it,  sent  to  the  serene  abode. 

Where  shades  of  pious  men  for  ever  dwell. 


rsLk^ 


(»») 


ON  A  MISER. 


Thst  call  thoe  rich — ^I  deem  thee  poor, 
8hie«,  if  thou  dar'st  opt  me  ^  strnp^ 
But  ■aT*it  it  only  for  thkie  hinrv, 
The  trearare  is  not  fbinei  bjut  thfiiok 


ANOTHER. 


•  A  MiSKRi  travennng  his  house, 

£q»ed,  unusual  there,  a  mouse, 

And  thus  his  uninvited  giiest, 

Brisklj  inquiative  addfess^d : 

**  TeU  me,  my  dear,  to  what  canse^is  it 

I  owe  this  unexpected  irisitP* 

The  ttoase  her  host  xibUquely  ey^d, 

And  smiling,  pleasantly  replied, 

**  Fear  not,  goodMUjfW^  for  your  hoaid* 

I  eome  to  lodge,  and  not  to  board.'* 


j«N0Xii£a. 


AsT  thou  some  hidiirldiriEl  df  ^  kind 
Long-liy*d  by  nature  us  the  rook  i»r  hind  ? 
Heap  treasure  then/  for  if '  thy-need  be  «a^, 
Thou  hast  excuse,  and  soafo»e«nst  heaptoo^mvi^. 
But  man  thou  seem'st^xlear  tfaer#fere  from  <hy  hiwu't 
This  lost  of  Ireasure^^fblly  at-^e-best ! 
For  why  shouldstthou  go  wasted^o  the  toiirt>, 
To  fktten  witb^y  Spoils  thou  know'st  not  ilfr«n* 


(299  ) 


FEMALE  INCONSTANCY. 

Rich,  thoa  badst  many  loversi-^poor  hast  nonfV 
So  flurely  want  exti&guisbea  tLe  flame ; 

And  she  who  caiVd  thee  once  her  pretty  one, 
And  her  Adonis,  now  inquires  thy  name. 

Where  wast  thou  bom,  Sosicrates,  and  where 

In  what  strange  country  can  thy  parents  live. 
Who  seem*8t,  by  thy  complaints,  not  yet  aware 
•  That  want's  a  crime  no  woman  can  forgive  ? 


THE  QHJS&BKM?? ER^ 

Hai^pt  seog^r,  pi)cch'd  above, 
On  the  summit  of  tlte  grove, 
Whom  a  dew  drop,  cheers  to  sing. 
With  the  freedom  of  a  king. 
From  thy  perch  survey  the  fielde 
Where  proHfick  nature  yields 
Nought,  that,  willingly  as  she, 
Man  surrenders  not  tatbee*- 
For  hostility  or  lkaliB> 
None  thy  pleasures' ea»  ecmto 
Thee  it  satiMee  tb  sing 
Sweetly  the  return  of  spring. 
Herald  uf  the'  genial  hours) 
TJarming  neiHier  hetbrn^r  Maw^tn. 
Therefore  man  thy  voice  attends.: 
Gladly,  then  and  he  are  firiend*^ 


900  TRANSLATIONS  OF  GREEK  VERSES 
Nor  thy  never  ceasing  strains 
Pbcebus  or  the  muse  disdains 
As  too  simple  or  too  long, 
For  themseWes  inspire  the  song. 
£arth4>orn,  bloodless,  undecaying, 
Eter  singing,  aporting,  playing, 
What  has  nature  else  to  jhow 
Godlike  in  his  kind  as  thou? 


ON  HERMOCRATIA. 

HcRMOcRATiA  uauiM savc  only  one— — 

Twice  fifteen  births  I  bore,  and  bnried  none : 
For  neither  Phoehns  pierc'd  my  thriving  joys, 

Nor  Dian she  my  girls,  or  he  my  boys, 

Bat  Dian  rather,  when  my  daughters  lay 
In  parturition,  chas*d  their  pangs  away, 
And  aU  my  sons,  by  FhcBbna*  bounty  8har*d 
A  vigorous  youth,  by  sick^eM  unimpur*d. 
O  Niobe !  far  leas  prolifiek  !  see 
Thy  boast  against  Latona  shamed  by  me  * 


FROM  MENANBER- 

Fond  youth !  who  dream'st,  that  hoarded  f^ 

Is  needful,  not  alone  to  pay 
For  all  thy  various  items  sold, 
•    Toservethewantsof  every  day; 

Bread,  vinegar  and  oil,  and  moat. 
For  sav'ry  viaads  aeason'd  high ; 

But  somewhat  moro  important 
I  tell  thee  what  A  cannot  buy. 


TRANSLATIONS  OF  GREEK  VERSES.  301 
No  treasurei  hodst  thou  more  amass'd, . 

Than  fame  to  Tantalus  assigned, 
Would  save  thee  from*  a  tomb  at  last, 

Bat  thou  must  leave  it  all  behind. 

1  give  thee,  therefore,  counsel  wise 

Confide  not  vainlj  in  thy  store, 
However  large^-— much  less  despise 

Others  comparatively  poor ; 

Bui  in  thy  more  exalted  state 

A  just  and  equal  temper  show, 
That  all  who  'see  thee  rich  and  great 

May  deofai  thee  worthy  to  be  so. 


OH 

PALLAS,  BATHING. 

FROM   A   HYMN  OF  CALLfMACHITS. 

Nor  oils  of  balmy  scent  produce. 
Nor  mirror  for  Minerva's  use, 
Te  nymphs  who  lave  her ;  she,  array'd 
In  genuine  beauty  scorns  their  aid. 
Not  even  when  they  left  the  ^ies 
To  seek  on  Ida's  head  the  prize 
From  Paris*  hand,  did  Juno  deign, 
Or  Pallas  in  the  crystal  plain 
Of  Simois*  stream  her  locks  to  trace. 
Or  in  the  mirror^s  polish'd  face. 
Though  Venus  oft  with  anxious  caro 
Adjusted  twice  a  single  hair. 
Vol.  III.  26 


(302^ 


TO  DEMOSTHENES. 

It  flatters  and  deceives  tliy  view, 
This  mirror  of  ill  polished  ore ; 

For  were  it  just,  and  told  thee  true, 
Thou  wooldst  consult  it  nctrer  ttkott. 


OH  A 

SIMILAR  CHARACTER. 

Yov  give  jour  cheeks  a  rosy  stain. 
With  washes  die  your  hair, 

But  paint  and  washes  both  are  vain 
To  give  a  youthful  air.     . 

ThoM  wrinkles  mock  your  daily  toil, 
No  labouf  wiQ  efface  *em, 

Tou  wear  a  mask  of  smoothest  oU, 
Tet  still  with  ease  we  traoo  'em. 

An  art  «o  fruitless  then  forsake. 

Which  though  you  much  exqpl  in, 

Tou  never  can  contrive  to  mako 
Old  Hecuha  young  Helen 


(303  ) 


ON  AN.UGLY  FELLOW. 

BxwARE,  my  fmnd !  of  crystal  brook, 
Or  fountain,  lest  that  hideous  hook, 

Thy  nose,  thou  chance  to  see ; 
Nanussns*  fiite  would  then  be  thine, 
AndiMlfrdetested  thou  wooldst  fm^:; 

Am  wW^muQsm^d  he^ 


ojr 
A  BATTERED  BEAUTY, 

Hair,  wax,  rouge,  hcmey,  teeth,  yo?i  buy 
^      A  multifiirious  store  ! 
A  mask  at  once  would  «H  map^j^ 
Nor  wpfild  it  cost  you  oaiore. 


ON  A  TmEF. 

When  Aulus,  the  uoctural  thief,  made  prize 
Of  Herraes,  swift-wing'd  envoy  of  the  skies, 
Hermes,  Arcadia's  )tiag,  the  thief  divine. 
Who,  when  an  infiutt,  stole  Apollo's  kine, 
And  whom,  as  arbiter  and  ov^fseer 
Of  our  gymnastiek  i^rts,  we  planted  heie ; 
*<  Hermes,"  he  cried,  '''you  meet  no  now  disaster 
Ofltimes  the  pupil  goes  beyond  his  master.'* 


(304  ^ 


ON  PEDIGREE. 

FROM  EPKl^A&MUS. 

Mr  mother,  if  thou  l^ve  mo,  name  no  more 
My  noble  birUi !  Soondmg  at  every  breath 
My  noble  birth !  thou  kill*8t  me.    Thither  fly, 
Ai  to  their  only  refage,  att  0rom  whom 
Nature  withholds  all  good  besides ;  they  boast 
Their  noble  birth,  conduct  us  to  the  tombs 
Of  their  forefathers,  and  firem  ag^  to  age 
Ascending,  trumpet  their  illustrious  race : 
But  whom  hast  thou  beheld,  or  canst  thou  namty 
Deriv^  from  no  forefather  ?  Such  a  man 
Lives  not ;  for  how  could  such  be  bom  at  all  ? 
And  if  it  chance,  that  native  of  a  land 
Far  distant,  or  in  infancy  depriv'd 
Of  all  his  kindred,  one,  who  earniot  trace 
His  origin,  exist,  why  deem  him  sprung  , 

From  baser  ancestry  xhi  u  theirs,  who  eon  f 
My  mother !  he,  whom  nature  at  his  birtlk 
Endowed  w*tH  virtuous  qualities,  although 
An  Athiop  aim  a  slave,  b  nobly  bom 


ON  ENVY. 

Prrr  says  tlie  Theban  bard, 
From  my  widies  I  discard  ; 
Envy,  let  me  rather  be. 
Rather  far  a  theme  for  thee ! 
Pity  to  distress  is  sHown, 
Envy  io  the  great  alonet;— 


TRANSLATIONS  OF  GREEK  VERSES.  205 
So  the  Theban — ^But  to  shine 
Le88  conspicuous  be  mine  ! 
I  prefer  the  golden  mean 
Pomp  and  penury  between ; 
For  alarm  and  peril  wait 
Ever  on  the  loftiest  ^tate. 
And  the  loivest,  t^  the  end^ 
.  Obb^uy.  and  scdrn  attend. 


Oft  we  enhance  ojorillji'bj  di0eentejit« 
And  givQ  th^n  bulk,  beyond  what  nature  m^antr 
A  parent,  brother ,  friend  4eceas*d».to  cry— 
**  He*s  dead  indeeii,  but  he  was  bom  to  die—*' 
Such  temperate  grief  is  muted  to  the  size 
And  burthen  of  thfa  lospi ;  is  just  and  wise. 
But  to  ezclaim,  *^  Ah !  wherefore  was  I  homt 
"  Thus  to  be  left,  for  ever  thus  forlorn  ?" 
Who  thus  laments  his  loss  invites  distrtaf , 
And  magnifies  a  wo  that  might  be  less, 
Through  dull  despondence  to  his  lot  resign'dy 
And  leaving  reason's  remedy  behind 
26« 


1 


BY  MOSCHUS. 

I  iLXPTy  when  Veniis  #iiter*d :  to  my  bed 
A  Cupid  in  her  beaateoos  hsnd  she  led, 
A  beiiifal  Meming  boy,  and  thus  she  said ; 

^*  Shepherd,  reeeive  my  litUe  one !  I  bring 
An  nntaoght  love,  whom  then  mnst  teach  to  sinif." 
8h/nid,  and  left  him.    I  easpecting  nought, 
Many  a  sweet  strain  my  subtle  pupil  taught, 
How  reed  to  reed  Pan  first  with  oner  bound, 
How  Mlas  fixm'd  the  pilpe  of  softesfc  sound, 
How  Hermes  gare  the  lute,  and  how  the  choir 
Of  PhflBbus  owe  to  Fhs^us*  self  the  lyre. 
Such  were  Aiy  themes ;  ray  tiiemes  nought  hdeded  Im, 
But  ditties  sang  of  am'rous  sort  to  me, 
The  pangs,  that  mortals  and  immortals  prove 
From  Venus'  influence,  and  the  darts  of  loVe. 
Thus  was  the  teacher  by  the  pupil  taught , 
His  kssons  I  retaia'd,  and  nune  XorgioL 


(307^ 
EPIGRAMS, 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  LATIN  OF  OWS!9. 


IN  IGNORANTEM  ARROGANTEM  LINUM 

Captivum,  Line,  te  tenet  ignorantia  duplex. 
ScIb  nihil,  et  Mescis  te  quoque  scire  niiii'^    - 

ON  ONE  IGNORANT  AND  ARROGANT: 

Thou  mayest  of  double  ign'rance  boast, 
Who  know'st  not,  that  thou  nothing  know'ift. 


PRUDENS  SIMPLICITAS. 

Ut  nuUi  nocuisse  yelis,  imitaro  cohtmbam : 
Serpentem,  ut  pottofc  nemo  rccere  tibi. 

PRUDENT  SIMPLICITY. 

That  thou  majest  injure  no  man,  dove-like  be, 
And  serpent-like,  that  none  may  injure  thee ! 

AD  AMICUM  FAUPEREM. 

Est  male  nunc  ?  Utinam  in  pejus  sors  omnia  vertat ; 
Succedunt  snmmis  t)ptima  s®pe  malis. 

TO  A  FRIEND  IN  DISTRESa 

1  WISH  thy  lot,  now  bad,  still  worse,  my  friend ; 
For  when  at  worst  they  say,  things  always  mend. 


<  308  ) 


Omk JA  me  diim  janior  emem,  scire  putabam  :       \ 
Quo  scio  plus,  hoc  me  nunc  scio  scire  minus     \ 

WuKir  little  more  than  boy  in  ag^e, 
I  deemed  mjaalf  almost  a  sage  ; 
But  now  seem  worthier  to  be  styl'd 
For  iiporance — almost  a  child. 


LEX  TALIONIS. 

Majorum  nunquani>  Anle,  legis  monomenta  t^M^iiVf 
Mirum  eat,  pfMVterjitas  si  Wa  ser%»ta  \q0^ 


BETAUATION. 

The  works  «f  aacleiit  bards  ditkia> 
Aulas,  tboii  flsorn'st  to  read ;  / 

And  should  posteritj  read  thine,  , 
It  wgald  be  strange  indted ' 

IMS  bRTU  BT  OCCASil 

Sole  onente,  tui  reditus  a  morte  memento  I 
Sis  memor  occasus.  sole^cadente^  tui !  ^ 


SUNSET  A^  SUNRISE. 

CoKTEMPi^n,  when  tl^e  son  declines)^ 
Thy  death,  with  deep  reflection ; 

And  when  again  he  rising  shines. 
Thy  day  of  resurrection  I 


(  309  ) 

tHanslations 

FROM 

THE  FABLES  OF  GAY. 


LEPUS  MULTIS  AMICUS 

Lusus  amicitia  est,  uni  nisi  dedita,  ceu  fit, 
,  Simplice  ni  nexus  fcedere,  lusus  amor. 

Inoerto  genitore  puer,  non  sspe  paterne 
Ttitamen.noyity  deliciasque  domus : 

Qoique  tSbi  fides  fore  multos  sperat  amicosv* 
Mirum  est,  huic  misero  si  ferat  ullus  opem. 

Comis  erat|  mitisqne,  et  nolle  et  voile  paratus 

Cum  quovis,  Graii  more  modoque,  Lepus. 
nie,  quot  in  sylyis,  et  quot  spatiantur  in  agris 

Quadrupedes,  norat  conciiiare  sibi ; 
Et  quisque  innocuo,  invitoque  lacessere  quenq[aiuii 

Labra  tenus  sahem  fidus  anucns  erat. 
Ortum  sub  lucis  dum  pressa  cubilia  linquit, 

Rorantes  herbas,  pabula  suetay  petens, 
Venatorum  audit  ekuigorcMt  pone^Boqaentmny 

Fulmineumqne  sonum  territus  erro  fugit. 
Corda  pavor  pulsat,  sursum  sedet,  eri^  aures, 

Respicit,  et  sentit  jam  prope  adesse  necem. 
Utqueicanes  fallat  late  circumvagus,  illuc, 

Undo  abiit,  mira  calliditate  redit ; 
Viribus  at  fractis  tandem  se  projicit  ultro 

In  media  miserum  semianimemque  via. 
Mz  ibi  stratus,  equi  sonitum  pedis  audit,- et,  oh  spe 

Quam  IsLta  adventu  cor  agitatur  equi ! 
Dorsum  (inquit)  mihi,  chare,  tuum  concede,  tuoque 

Auxilio  nares  fallere,  vimque  canuni. 


310         TRANSLATIONS  FROM  GAY. 
Me  meas,  at  nosti,  pes  prodit — ^fidud  arnicas 

Fert  quodconque  lubens,  nec^uraTe  sentit,  onas. 
Belle  miselle  lepascule,  (equos  reipoddet)  amara 

Omnia  quie  tibi  sunt,  sunt  et  amara  mihi. 
Venun  age^ — some  animos — multi,  me  pone,  bonique 

Adveniant,  qaoram  ns  cito  salvus  ope. 
Prosiiims  armeoti  dooiinas  bos  s^icitaios 

Aoxiliom  his  verbis  se  dare  posse  negat. 
Qaando  qaadnipeda»>  qoot  vivont,  nullos  amicmn 

Me  nescire  potest  usque  fuisse  tibi. 
Libertato  0qau8y  cjaam  oedit  amicus  amico, 

Utar,  ot  absque  metu  ne  tibi  displiceam  ; 
Hinc  me  mandat  amor.    Juxta  istum  messis  acerruui 

Me  mea,  pne  cunctis  chara,  juvencamanet-; 
Et  quia  mm  uitro  qusecunquo  negotia  linquit, 

Pareat  ut  domins,  cum  yocat  ipsa,  sue  ? 
Neu  me  orudelem  dicas    discedo— eed  hircus, 

Cojos  ope  effugias  integer,  hircos  adest.  flangueat  J 
Febrem  (ait  hireos)  babes.     Heu,  miopa,  u^  kupina 

Utque  caput,  coUo  defieiente,  jacet  I 
Hirsutum  mibi  teignm ;  ei  £»ce»n  Ispetit  «|(nup| 

VeUere  oris  melius  fultuA,  oyisque  xemi. 
Me  mihi  fecit  omw  ni^oia»  wds  imiuit,  .^ubel^j^ 

Sostineo  lane  pondera  tanla  mee ; 
Me.  neo  velocem  nee  fortem  jacto,  solentf^ 

Nos  etiam  sevi  dilaeerare  canes. 
Ultimus  aceedit  vifmhi%jB^f4um90P  i^xsaUm: 

Ut  periturum  alias  ocyu9  eripiat. 
Remne  ego,  reqmndflt  vitulus,  suscjBperp  tantwi^ 

Non  depubus  adhiic  ubece,  natus  herl  I 
Te,  quern  maluri  cajiibus  validique  rdinqmm^ 

Incolumem  potero  reddqjre  parvps  ego  i 
Pretoreatollens  quem  ilU  ayersantur,  amicis 

Forte  parum  videar  consuluiase  meis. 
Ignoscas  oro.    Fidissima  dissociaatuz 

Corda,  et  tale  tibi  sat  liquet  esse  meum. 
Eoco  aHtem  ad  calces  canis  est !  te  quanta  p^ien^l* 

Txistitia  est  nobis  iiyiruitunir  '-—-Vale  ! 


f  311) 


AVARUS  ET  PLUTUS. 

IcTA  fenestra  Eufi  ffatu  stridebat,  aV^rttd 

Ez  somno  trepidus  snrgit,  opumque  meilibr. 
Lata  sUenter  numi  ponit  vestigia,  qaemt(tie 

Respicit  ad  sonitum  respiciensque  treinit ; 
AngUBtiAfima  quosque  foramina  I&inpade  vifsit,  * 

Ad  vectes,  obices,  fertque  refertqne  maxram. 
Dein  reserat  crebris  junctam  compagibtia  arcam 

Ezultansque  omnes  cbnspicit  intus  opes. 
Sed  tandem  foriis  ultricibus  actus  db  arteii 

Qjieis  sua  req  tenuis  creverat  in  cumixltnii. 
Contortis  manibus  nunc  slaf,  xttuld  peetora  pcds&As' 

Aamm  execratur,  pefnicidm^e  vddst ; 
O  mihi,  ait,  mis^ro  mehs  qttata  triUiqcSia'fb&fliifdt;', ' 

Hoc  celasset  adbu6  si  niodo  t6rra  tti&itmti 
Nunc  autem  virtus  ipsa  est  venalis ;  et  aunim 
'  Quid  contra  vitii  termina  ssva  valet  ? 
O  inimicum  aurum !  O  homitti  infestissima  pestisi 

Cui  datur  illecebras  vincere  posse  tuas  ? 
Aurum  homines  stiasit  coBtemnere  quioquid  honestaai 
est, 

£t  praster  nomeif  nil  retiiiere  boni 
Aurum  cuncta  mali  pei^  terras  •emiaa  spasait  > 

Aurum  noctumis  furibus  arma  dediL 
Bella  doeet  fortes,  timidosque  ad  pessima  ducit. 

FcBdifragas  artes,  multiplieesque  doles, 
Nee  vkH  (piicquam  est,  quod  non  inveneris  ortum 

Ex  malesuada  auri  sacrilegaque  fame 
Dixit  et  ingemuit ;  Plutusque  suum  sibi  numen* 

Ante  oculos,  ira  fervidus,  ipse  stetit. 
Arcam  clausil  avarus,  et  ora  horrentia  rugis 

Ostendens ;  tremulum  sic  Deus  incre'puit. 
Qnestibus  his  raucis  mihi  cur,  stulte,  opstrepis  aures  f 

Ista  tui  sirailis  tristia  quisque  canit. 


312         TRANSLATIQJiS  FROM  GAY. 
CommacnUTJ  egone  hamanum  genus,  improbe?  Culpa. 

Dum  rapls,  et  captas  omnia,  culpa  tua  est. 
Mono  esecrandum  censes,  quia  tan^retiosa 

Criminibus  fioat  peraiciosa  iuis  ? 
Viitutts  specie,  pnlchro  cea  pallio  amictus 

Qoisqae  tmin»  nebulo  sordida  facta  tegit. 
Atgne  ^*il£inanibufi  commissa  potentia,  durum 

Et  <firdm  subito  vergit  ad  imperium. 
Hine,  niminm  dnm  latro  aurum  detrudit  in  ariSara, 

Idem  aurum  Idtet  in  pectore  pestis  edax. 
Nutrit  avaritiam  et  iastum,  suspendoro  adunco 

Suadet  naso  iaopes,  et  vitium  omne  docet. 
Anri  et  larga  probo  si  copia  contigit,  instar 

Rons  dilapsi  ex  etbere  cuncta  beat : 
Tom,  quasi  numen  ineaset^  alit,  fovit,  educat  orbos, 

£t  Tidoas  laorTinis  ora  rigare  vetat 
Quo  sua  crimina  jure  amo  derivet  avarus, 

Aurum  aiiims  protium  qui  cupit  atque  capit ' 
Lege  pari  Radium  incuset  sicarins  atroz 

C«so  homine,  et  ferrum  judicet  esse  ream. 


PAPILIO  ET  LIMAX. 

Qui  subito  ex  imis  rerum  in  fastigit  eursrit» 
Kotiras  sordos,  ^pisqoid  ^ee^tur,  oloU 


TBB  BXD« 


hich  borrowed. 


I 


stampec 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


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